Sierra 034
by HaJokerHa
Summary: A Spartan thought to be Missing-In-Action returns to wage a war against his own for unclear reasons. Will he lose his last shred of humanity or will his humanity be all that saves him? (Years in the making and now remastered! Updates will be often and this story will be completed.)
1. Prologue

**0330 Hours, December 18, 2534 (Military Calendar) /  
Insurrectionist frigate **_**Hell's Harpoon**_** en route to  
Zeus Training Facility, asteroid belt Amber Light**

Commander Ethan B. Hook was as tough of a leader as they come. He had seen his fair share of combat, hell; he'd seen ten men's share of combat. Twenty years ago he never would of thought he'd be in command of a of a warship, packed full of recruits for the war effort against the United Nations Space Command, UNSC for short. War, however, has a way of changing even the best laid plans. Now he is the commander of the _Hell's Harpoon_; a ship that was almost as old as him, a ship which until fifteen minutes ago had gone the entire length of Hook's command without being attacked. Hook prided himself on his ability to move around unnoticed, slipping insurgents in and out without becoming so much as a blip on the radar. Today, though, _his _ship had come under attack by an enemy, an enemy that was on the _inside_.

At 0315, to the second, the _Harpoon_ was rocked by a massive explosion. Initial reports were that an _Archer_ missile had a partial detonation, but when the ship suddenly came to a halt it was clear their engines had been destroyed. Maintenance had been sent to investigate the damage, along with a small security detail. The last report he got was that they had reached the engine room and the situation looked bad. Originally Commander Hook had expected foul play from one of his crew, but when reports of gunfire were coming in from all around the ship it became clear that it was much more. At 0321, Hook put the entire ship on high alert and ordered all personnel to arm themselves with anything they could find. There were men and women roaming the halls with wrenches and sharpened brooms.

The _Harpoon's_ security teams were sent to the major choke points of the ship, but whatever was in his ship was cutting through them. Chatter among his bridge officers was that there was a squad or more of UNSC Orbital Drop Shock Troopers onboard. If that was the case, then how did they get onboard without being detected? This assumption became false when the crew up channeled reports of a single, large soldier running through the corridors. Reports were that this _soldier_ was sporting a full suit of body armor, from head to toe, colored as black as the night. With casualty reports mounting and an enemy within his ship, Commander Hook made the decision to evacuate all personnel at 0329. _No one made it off the ship._

Escape pods had been disabled on all levels, whatever this thing was it wanted to keep everyone onboard. It wanted to _kill them all_. Hook ordered what was left of his armed security teams to the bridge, where they were to protect his officers and himself until help from _Zeus _could arrive. Emergency thrusters were still working, slowly pushing the _Harpoon_ towards the facility, but they were still hours away at this speed. He hoped that someone was paying attention to their scanners and realized that his ship decelerated at an unnatural speed. However, he wasn't going to hold his breath.

"Commander," spoke up Elizabeth Allen, a civilian whose knowledge of shipboard communications earned her a spot among his crew, "I just received reports that security has set up outside of the bridge elevator."

"How many made it, Ms. Allen?" Hooks' voice gave a hint of worry, for he knew he wouldn't like the answer.

"Fifteen, sir. That's all that Sergeant Weaver is reporting."

"Fifteen?" He turned to face her, "when we left _Keller_ personnel reported our security strength to be around _two hundred_!"

She could sense the anger and desperation in his voice, but she did her best to remain calm, "I understand, Commander, but those were the numbers that I was given."

Hook brought his hand to his face and rubbed his temples with his thumb and index finger, it was a nervous habit. Things had gotten out of hand and fast, but he wasn't about to lose this ship, not without a fight.

"Seal the bridge, retrieve your side arms, and ladies and gentlemen," the crew all turned to him. "Pray."

The bridge crew scurried about, pulling their side arms from their concealed locations around the bridge and pushing anything they could in front of them for cover. The men moved closest to the doors, while the women, who were slightly apprehensive, moved towards the back. Commander Hook stood defiantly in the middle of them all, his pistol in one hand and a six inch knife, a gift from his wife, in the other. Moments later the echoing of gunfire could be heard coming up the elevator shaft.

"Bridge, Delta One. I say again, Bridge this is Delta One. Does anyone copy?" Sergeant Weaver's voice could barely be heard over the gunfire in the background.

"Go ahead, Delta One. What is your situation down there?" Ms. Allen replied, her voice now had that fearful shake in it.

"FUBAR! I've got six men KIA, this.. this.. THING came out of nowhere! Shit," there was static over the radio, "Grenade!"

The thunderous echo from the concussion of a grenade bounced off the walls and up the elevator shaft. Everyone turned their heads slightly, a reaction to hearing such a loud noise.

"Delta One, report."

Nothing.

Ms. Allen's voice became shakier, "Delta One, come in!"

Again there was silence, but before she could try again the elevator made a terrifying sound. The arrow on the right side of the door way lit up, revealing that someone was coming up. Hook flipped the safety off of his pistol, which now swayed side to side in his trembling hand. He prayed that it was Sergeant Weaver coming up to inform them that the threat had been neutralized, but deep down he knew it was only wishful thinking. The pistol began to shake more violently, sweat started to drip down his brow, burning his eyes. He didn't dare wipe it away as he listened to the elevator start to slow before coming to a complete halt. The silence was broken as one of his crew nervously pulled back on the trigger, sending a bullet striking the elevator door. The women screamed, the men jumped and Hook yelled.

"Dammit, who fired that-"

An explosion erupted throughout the bridge as the elevator doors were blasted open. Shrapnel from the door struck Hook in his shoulder, causing him to drop his pistol. His body was spun around and thrown onto the ground from the force. Through the ringing in his ears he could barely make out the screams of his shipmates and the gunfire which reverberated throughout the bridge. Hook looked up, his vision dazed and foggy, and saw as Ms. Allen was shot in the chest. Blood splattered against the council behind her and sparks shot up as the bullet passed through her and into the panel. As she stumbled backwards, clutching her wound with both hands, another bullet struck her in the forehead, ending her life instantly. It was only a few more seconds later that the gunfire stopped all together and Hook knew he was the only one left.

When his senses finally came back to him, he could hear the heavy footsteps walking across the bridge towards him. He remained still, gripping his knife tightly in his hand, waiting till this monster got close enough. When he heard the step fall within a few feet of where he laid, the Commander sprung to his feet and lunged for his attacker. It was all a blur at first, his adrenaline having gotten the best of him as he swung blindly at his target. His first swipe missed when the _soldier_ took a step back then his secondary attack again came up short. By now he was focused enough to see his attacker, but he had wished he hadn't. This thing stood a whole two feet taller than him, its body was plated like a starship and his reflective visor revealed Hook's own terrified expression to himself.

"No, it can't be." Hook grumbled under his breath before regaining his courage and swinging at the creature again.

This time the monster didn't humor Hook by making him miss, he met his forearm with his own, causing the bone to completely shatter. With a horrified scream, Hook dropped the knife and stumbled backwards onto his commanding chair in the middle of the bridge. Tears swelled up in his eyes as the pain was insurmountable, but fear was also pushing his tears down his cheeks. The monster approached him, reaching down and picking up Hook's knife as it did. The knife looked small in its massive hand, if it had squeezed hard enough it would have shattered it with ease.

"Ethan Baynard Hook, you and your crew are being charged for treason which in wartime is punishable by death. How do you plead?"

A confused look crossed Hook's face and he said nothing.

"Commander Hook, how do you plead?!" Its voice boomed through the emitter on its helmet.

"Not guilty." Hook finally pushed out through the pain, "Spartan."

With that the Spartan raised the knife up in a quick motion, slamming it into the soft spot under Hooks' chin, pushing it through the lower part of his skull and into his brain. Hook's eyes bulged out as death overtook him and then he wasted away. The Spartan turned his hand sharply, snapping the knife away from the hilt and tossed it to the side.

"Despite your plea, you have been deemed guilty, along with your crew."

The Spartan looked up from Hook's body and out of the bridges viewing windows. Two ships could be seen approaching the _Harpoon_, they would be his ride to the _Zeus_ training facility. He reached up to his neck, unlatched his helmet and pulled it off. His sandy blonde hair, no longer within military regulations, fell shoulder length. With his bright green eyes he stared off into the distance.

"This is for the good of mankind, Sam." His eyes scanned the bridge, soaking up the carnage of the last few minutes.

"Yeah. Keep telling yourself that."


	2. Missing In Action

**2104 Hours, November 27, 2525 (Military Calendar) /  
Onboard Covenant Cruiser, in orbit over Chi Ceti 4**

Sam stood their silently, his rifle slung over his left shoulder and his right hand pressed up tightly against his wound. He watched as his friends ran off through the Covenant ship, they never looked back; he didn't expect them to look back. They were Spartans, just like him and they knew what they had to do. Sam also knew what he had to do and he had less than three minutes to do it in. By now the ship was wailing with alarms and what sounded like high pitched chirps and squeals.

"Well, if I'm going down I'm going to take this whole ship with me," he said calmly to himself as he got into a ready position, the butt of his weapon pressed tightly into his shoulder.

Tactically he moved for cover, knowing that the Covenant would be coming in a hurry. The creature which had earlier been alerted to the Spartans presence had now gained the courage to come from cover and began firing wildly at Sam. The plasma shots scourged around him, all of them way off target. Sam took his time, remaining calm under the pressure of the shots. When he saw his opening he took it, firing into the very center of the energy shield, slicing through the creatures' wrist and removing the hand from the rest of the arm. It screeched in pain, dropped the pistol in his other hand and clasped the wound. Sam fired one more burst into its chest finishing the job.

_2:10…_

He wasn't scared, not even in the least bit. The only regret he had was that he wasn't going to live long enough to kill more Covenant. Sam moved from his cover and scanned the area, when suddenly the door across the room opened up and four of the shield wielding creatures stepped out. As they brought their weapons up a different alarm sounded and what looked like terror crossed their birdlike features. Sam dove for cover, but when he emerged he watched as the creatures took off through the door of which they came, following a blue light that resonated from the ground. They knew this ship was going to blow, just as much as Sam did.

_1:43…_

Instincts kicked in and he took off after the creatures. Not a single one of them was going to live to land on Chi Ceti 4 and transmit the location of the facility to any other ship. If he had to hold them in with his bare hands he was going to see that they all shared the same fate as he was about too. These creatures were fast, but not fast enough to get away from the genetically enhanced human. Sam caught up to them as they rounded the corner, he leapt for the slowest one, tackling it to the ground and crushing it under the weight of the MJOLNIR. Air and blood shot from its beak as it chirped its dying breath. The others turned to face the noise, but Sam was already on top of them, striking one of them in the face with the butt of his rifle.

_1:03… _

The others brought their shields up, but the space was too cramped and they fumbled with getting their weapons in place. That split second was all Sam needed and he lunged forward, knocking both of the creatures against the wall. He heard the echo and the crunch as one of their skulls bounced off the smooth face of the corridor. Blood drops went everywhere as one of them fell to the ground, the other reached out and latched onto Sam's arm, swinging its shield at him and striking him across the helmet. It was a weak strike, but it gave the creature enough time to escape toward the end of the hallway. Sam rose to his feet and watched as the creature, in a state of panic, began punching commands into a panel.

_0:50…_

Sam raced forward, bringing his rifle to his shoulder and fired perfectly at it, striking it just as the sliding doors in front of it opened. The weapon clicked and the magazine dropped out, the sign that the ammunition was gone. He dropped the weapon and drew his fist back, snapping it forward with full momentum and struck the dazed beast in the head with a massive punch. Blood splattered and the momentum carried both of them through the doors. The room was smaller than Sam anticipated and they slammed into the rear wall. No sooner had they crossed the threshold did the doors slide shut and the humming of equipment turning on could be heard.

For good measure Sam slammed his fist into the creatures head again, turning it into nothing more than a purple pulp of bone and flesh. He rose and walked toward the door, tried typing in something on the keyboard but all he got in return was a loud beep in conjunction with a red light. Cursing he slammed his fist against the door; it was then the jolt happened. His body jerked and he hit his head against the door with such a force his vision blurred. It felt as if he was moving, but before he could put it all together there was another jerk and again he slammed his head against the door, this time it was enough force to drop him to his knees and then finally to his side. For a brief moment his vision came back, though hazy he could still read the countdown on his HUD.

_0:05…_

A sigh escaped his lips and he closed his eyes, he felt his consciousness begin to fade and he smiled. The last thing he heard was a massive explosion and then everything went to black.

* * *

**0518 Hours, October 20, 2517 (Military Calendar) /  
Military Reservation 01478-B****, plant Reach**

"Sam," the voice whispered past his ear. "Sam, wake up."

He lay silently on his cot, motionless and fast asleep. Whoever was trying to wake him up would just have to wait; this was his time to himself.

"SAM!" The sudden shout jolted Samuel out of his slumber and sent him stumbling out of the cot, hitting the floor with a thud. "We have to get out there or we're not eating tonight!"

Now he recognized the voice as Kelly's, the girl who he had just befriended some three weeks ago. Though his eyes were still waking up, he could easily make out the irritated look that was on her face. Their little _click, _John included, had grown fond of being on time and more importantly, on top—of everything. Regardless, sometimes Kelly would still have to put her foot down on Sam, especially in the morning. Groggy, disoriented, and a little upset by his rude awakening, Sam forced himself to his feet and instinctively headed towards the doorway. Kelly stayed close behind him, making sure he didn't try to sneak back in and go to sleep.

The morning sun still hadn't risen over the tree line and the air was bitterly cold. Sam's lungs burned with every breath that he took, causing him to cough repeatedly in response. As his senses came to him he looked around, seeing all of the other children doing their own personal stretches, wrestling with one another, or sitting silently by themselves. Since they've been here all of them had started waking up beforehand, for fear of receiving the "encouragement" from the drill instructors; Sam was still one of the stragglers. Kelly stepped up next to him and punched in the shoulder; he winced and shot her a glare, which she happily returned with a smile.

"Big day today!" The excitement she had was unnatural for this time of the day. "You remember what today is, don't you?"

"Sausage for breakfast," he replied with a grin; she hit him again.

"No, Sam! Chief Mendez is going teach us more of that close combat!" Her eyes were lit up like a child who had gotten the present she had always wanted for her birthday.

"Which means I get to rub your nose in the dirt, Sam," John had pushed his way through the crowd of kids, showing up at just the right time to slap Sam with an insult, _like always_.

Sam shook his head, puffed out his chest, and folded his arms in front of him, "You wish! I'm going to make short work of you!"

"Stop it, you too. We all know I'm going to beat you both," Kelly interjected.

Both John and Sam looked at each other, then at Kelly, then back to each other and shrugged, "She's probably right," Sam finally said.

They all shared a quick laugh, one that was made even quicker by the sound of Chief Petty Officer Mendez's whistle. Like trained dogs they rushed towards their master, lined up in formation and remained completely still as Mendez studied them. He walked up and down the rows of the formation, looking for untied shoes, strings on their shirts, anything that he could use to administer more punishment. After about ten minutes he finished his rounds, stepped back to the front of the group and glared over the bunch of them.

"I counted three untied shoes and eight unclipped threads," he said with a calm voice, almost as if he was pleased that there were mistakes, "you all know what that means."

With a sharp blow of his whistle the children let out a grown and got down into the push up position, grumbling amongst each other. Another whistle blow and the children started doing their push up's in cadence, calling out the number that they were on in unison.

"Twenty push up's for every infraction," explained the Chief as he walked through their ranks, making sure no one was slacking, "that seems fair enough to me."

Thirty minutes and an additional fifty push up's later, the children were jogging towards their training ground. They talked quietly amongst themselves, trying to figure out who didn't tie their shoes, but no one was going to admit to it. John, Kelly, and Sam maintained their position near the front of the formation, just like every morning, running side by side. Two miles later they were at an open field, filled with several chalk-lined circles in the dirt, each about ten meters in diameter. There were roughly ten circles total, each one with a drill instructor standing by, holding on tightly to a baton. Sam grimaced at the sight of them and nudged John, nodding his head towards the batons. He shared the same feeling towards them as Sam, but Kelly, she seemed to never get an "encouragement" shock. The Chief jogged them into the middle of the field, ordered the halt and for them to fall in on him.

"Listen up; today you will be conducting hand-to-hand training. I will not have a repeat of what went on last time we were up here. As you can see, my instructors are standing by the fighting pits," he pointed towards one of them, "and they each have brought with them their own form of motivation. If, like last time, some of you decide that you would rather use this time to relax or not fight at all, they will be more than happy to motivate you to do otherwise. Am I clear?"

A unison reply came from the children, Sam grumbled under his breath. This was the kind of training that he hated the most, mainly because he was always paired up with one of those kids that didn't want to do anything. After batting him around for a few minutes, he got bored with the whole thing and then he would be getting the motivation that the Chief was referring too.

"Now, I am not completely heartless, so today you will be allowed to pick who your training partner is," John and Sam immediately looked at each other, glaring their eyes as they did, "with that said, fall out to a circle and make yourself ready."

The children started to break off slowly, picking through the crowd to find their partner.

"I mean NOW!" Chief Mendez shouted and knocked the children in to hurry mode. They scattered like cockroaches in the light and rushed towards their respective circles.

John and Sam made it to the first one, took positions on either side and started the stare down. Their drill instructor explained the rules, but neither of them was really paying attention to him. The only thing that they were listening for was his mark to begin. When they finally heard it, Sam lunged across the circle towards John, who met him halfway. They tackled each other, both stopping in their tracks before falling to the ground. There they rolled around in the dirt, each one of them trying to gain an early advantage over the other. When they both stopped rolling, Sam managed to find himself on top, pinning John down with his left hand holding John's right arm down and his right forearm pressed up against John's neck.

"I got you," whispered Sam as he continued to apply downward pressure, now starting to see the color fade from John's face.

John gritted his teeth, pushing up as hard as he could with his free hand, trying to force Sam off of him. Sam, though, was slightly bigger than John and was using gravity to his advantage. With a last ditch burst of strength, John managed to push Sam's forearm up just enough so he could cradle his chin down into his chest. He sucked in a deep breath, regaining his composure, then kicked his legs up, flipping both Sam and him end-over-end. They landed in a heap of dust and both struggled to their feet, bringing their hands up to protect their face in the event of a quick strike. They danced around each other for a second, before Sam charged again. This time John didn't chance going toe-to-toe with him and he side stepped, letting Sam pass right by him.

As he did, John turned, slipping one arm under Sam's arm pit, raising it above his head. Sam, caught by complete surprise, hesitated in his reaction or he would have countered this move. With his other arm, John reached around the front of Sam and locked his forearm under his chin, then leaped up, wrapping his legs around Sam's waist and fell backwards. John crossed his heels in front of Sam, pushed down with his legs and pulled up with his arms. Sam let out a loud gasp as air was unwillingly forced from his lungs. He struggled momentarily, but within the first few seconds his world start to go black, until all of a sudden…

* * *

**1558 Hours, November 28, 2525 (Military Calendar) /  
Onboard Covenant Escape Pod, Unknown Location**

The sound of metal slamming against metal woke Sam up from his unconsciousness. He took in his surroundings, trying to recall his last memories. At first he thought that he was dead, but the searing pain that still tortured his side was very much alive. As he looked around his memories came back to him and he soon realized that this is where he had chased the Covenant creature to seconds before the explosion. The dead body next to him reinforced this, that and the pool of purple blood with Sam was lying in. He rose to his feet, did his best to wipe some of the blood off of him, and then shook his head back and forth, trying to focus himself. Another loud noise echoed throughout the small craft and Sam looked up towards the ceiling. He felt a light jolt, and then a change in direction as the craft started to be pulled. His first instincts kicked him and he started looking for a weapon or cover of some sort. There was nothing around, except for the dead creature. Sam reached down and picked it up, holding it in one arm in front of him. It wasn't much of a shield, but it would surely distract anything that he threw it at.

Sparks lit up the crafts doors and chatter of men could be heard on the other side. Were they speaking English, Sam wondered, but he couldn't make them out clearly. He watched as the lit from the flame started near the top of the seal of the door and worked its way down. Once it had reached the bottom, two metallic prongs were slammed between the doors and grunts of strength replaced the chatter. Slowly, the doors started to become pried open and Sam lifted the creature up, hiding his head behind it, peaking under is limp arm. Just as the door was only open about six inches, then prongs were pulled away and bright light blasted into the craft. Sam's visor tinted automatically and he continued staring forward towards the entrance, watching and waiting.

"Sierra-zero-three-four, are you in there?" Called a voice on the other side, it was a human voice. Regardless, Sam said nothing.

"Judging by the silence, I'm going to assume that's a yes. I am Captain Gabriel Hawke and you are on the UNSC cruiser, _Hope_. You have been out for over twenty four hours, Spartan; I can understand that you are a little fuzzy. If you come out peacefully and don't kill any of my men, I can explain everything. What do you say?"

Again, nothing, but Sam did lower the body down so that its legs laid on the floor, his body now more relaxed.

"Don't make me order you, son." The voice finally said after ten seconds.

Sam grumbled under his helmet, tossed the creature aside and stepped forward, placing both of his hands on each door and pushed outwards, forcing the doors open. As he stepped forward, the bright light was turned off and his visor returned to normal. Standing before him in a half circle was a platoon of armor clad Marines, each one with their Battle Rifles at low ready. Right before him was a taller man, about six feet, three inches, still much shorter than Sam. His hair was graying at the sides and barely within regulations. A holster hung over his shoulders, with the pistol tucked underneath his left arm. The uniform that he wore was a black urban camouflage, not something that would be suited for the Captain of a ship. He looked Sam up and down, his eyes resting upon the wound at his side.

"Medic to the cargo hold," he said loud enough for one of the Marine's to hear.

One of them scrambled off, shouting out "Medic!" as he did. The others kept their eyes on Sam, watching his every movement.

"Sierra-zero-three-four, welcome aboard the _Hope_. Now, let's get you patched up. I have a mission that might peak your interest."


	3. The Plan

**0715 Hours, December 8, 2525 (Military Calendar) /  
Onboard UNSC Cruiser **_**Hope**_**, orbiting **_**Sera Moons,**_**  
Planet **_**Nimbus, Hera System**_

The bridge of the _Hope _was enormous by UNSC standards, almost designed to be more luxurious than practical. Over thirty Officers sat in a half circle around the main communications terminal, which itself was about a five meter by two meter long holographic table. Captain Hawke's chair rested just at the head of it, so that he could overlook his crew and communicate with the other eight ships escorting the _Hope_. A holographic image of a man in a UNSC service dress uniform orbited above the table, his eyes staring down at the seated Captain, his hands resting behind his back in a modified parade rest.

"Give it to me straight, Clyde, no bullshit," Captain Hawke insisted as he rested his left arm on the table and leaned towards the image, "how are the Outer Colonies looking?"

"Like shit," the image, referenced to as Clyde replied calmly, "it hasn't gotten better since this war started and now, with these aliens they are getting stronger."

"Explain," Hawke leaned back in the chair, folding his arms in front of his chest.

"Certainly," Clyde removed his arms from behind his back and began to type on something, though not visible to Hawke, on his end he was bringing up information on various terminals which soon flooded the view screen.

"As you can see, Insurrection activity has increased fivefold since we publicly released the attack on Harvest. They think that we are getting weaker and that this Covenant of aliens is merely attacking the UNSC."

A series of photo's popped up on the screen of various Insurrectionist leaders giving speeches in public locations on various Outer Colony planets. There was even a brief radio message played, explaining how the UNSC had brought these aliens to their own doorstep and that they would be more than happy to assist them in destroying all aspects of the Earth borne government.

"Ignorant bastards!" Hawke explained, slamming his fist against the table. "What makes them think that the Covenant won't hunt them down once they've finished us off!"

"At the moment the Covenant hasn't targeted any of their held worlds. They have no reason to fear them and we have every reason too. We are losing credibility and fast, Captain Hawke and it won't be long before even Inner Colonies start having doubts."

"This war just started, damn it!"

"I understand, Captain, but the survivors from _Harvest_ have had their stories sent to nearly all of our colonies. Needless to say, not all of them depict the Covenant in a 'talking mood' with the UNSC."

"I've read the reports and witnessed the interviews, Clyde, I am well aware of what happened on Harvest," Hawke reached into his pocket and removed a cigar, retrieved a lighter from the same pocket and lit it. Cigars always seemed to help him relax and after he took in a long drag, then exhaled the smoke, he continued. "So, will our plan work? Do you think we can make the Insurrectionist join us? Do you think we can get _all _of Humanity on the same side before it's too late?"

"The no bull shit answer, Captain, is no." Clyde just stared down at the Captain with unblinking eyes. "But, I think we can turn a vast majority of them over to us and eventually maybe even gain some assistance from them in the future. Not all of them will turn, though; there are far too many radicals within their ranks."

"So," he blew smoke towards the image, Clyde paid no attention towards it, "let's make this official. As of 0726, initiate Operation: _WOODEN HORSE_. This doesn't leave our channels, do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, Captain, I'll rely the order now," Clyde began typing again, but suddenly stopped. "Before I do though, I have to ask. Do we have one?"

Hawke took another long drag and again exhaled towards the image, "Yes."

Clyde nodded and a devious grin seemed to cross his features, "Good bye, Captain."

The image flickered off and the lights on the table deemed to near darkness. Hawke leaned back into the soft padding of the chair, enjoying the silence of the bridge and the taste of his cigar. To most commanders the order he had just issued would have only been done so as a last resort, but not to Hawke. That's why he was put in charge of this operation, he was heartless. Just the kind of man the Office of Naval Intelligence needed to send to the Outer Colonies. He sat there in silence for the better part of an hour, the operation playing through his head.

"Ensign Lowe," Hawke finally spoke as he put out his cigar in a nearby ashtray. "Have Petty Officer Second Class Samuel meet me in the cargo hold."

"Aye-Aye, Captain," replied the Ensign from his duty station.

Hawke brought himself to his feet, turned on his heels and headed towards the bridge elevator. He selected the level, five stories down, to the cargo hold. While he waited for the elevator to lower itself down, Hawke began to plan his strategy of wining Samuel over. Spartans were loyal, incorruptibly loyal, but if he was going to work _with_ Hawke then he was going to have to make tough choices. They all were. The elevator slowed to a halt and the doors slid open, Hawke stepped out and to his surprise Samuel was already there waiting for him. He wasn't sporting his MJOLNIR armor, as it was down in the tech lab being repaired. Instead he wore the standard issue fatigues that were given to him upon his arrival. They were neatly pressed and by the looks of it he had fashioned on the appropriate additions of name and rank.

"I see that you're not having any trouble finding your way around the ship," Hawke commented as he stepped out of the elevator.

Samuel snapped to attention and offered a crisp salute, "Yes, sir."

Hawke returned the salute, "Stand at ease, Samuel. And by the way, we're not that formal on this ship. Our mission requires us to be more, how do you say, unorthodox."

"Speaking of our mission, sir," Samuel made a notion towards finding out what was going on and Hawke was more than happy to oblige.

"Jumping right to the chase, that's good," Hawke stretched his right arm out, point down one of the nearby passageways, "walk with me, Samuel."

They both turned and headed down the passageway; Samuel taking up the position on Hawke's left as they walked. For the first few minutes they only exchanged pleasantries, Hawke inquiring about his injuries and getting Sam's input on combating the Covenant.

"In reference to the Covenant, Captain Hawke," Sam looked over at him, a sense of worry in his eyes, "were the rest of the Spartan's able to make it back to the fight?"

Hawke stared right back at him and smirked, then nodded, "Yes, they are all en route to Reach as we speak. From there I'm sure they will be tasked to various fronts."

The look was removed from Sam's eyes and though he didn't show it he was relieved to hear that, "Well, how much longer till we will be joining them?"

"We won't be," Hawke stopped in his tracks, as did Sam, "as far as your fellow Spartans and the rest of the UNSC is concerned, Samuel, you're missing in action."

"I don't think I understand, Captain," Sam towering appearance would have made a nervous officer break right then and there, but Hawke was far from that.

"In order for us to do our mission, I needed a Spartan that was already deemed deceased. If everyone thinks that you are dead, then no one will believe that you are alive. Quite frankly I'm surprised you survived your last encounter, I suppose it was just a stroke of luck," Hawke looked side to side, scanning both ends of the passageway, making sure they were alone.

"What kind of mission are we talking about," it was now clear that Sam was irritated, as he seemed to have removed the courtesies from his speech.

"Extermination, to put it simply, Sam. Your mission is going to be to locate and eradicate Insurrection hot spots around the galaxy," he turned and started walking again.

Sam joined him, his mind racing with a hundred questions, "That was part of my mission from the beginning. I don't see how me being presumed dead is a requirement."

"It's a requirement because you're going to have to be brutal, more brutal than the UNSC will allow. Men, women, children, the whole lot of them. The UNSC would never allow you to go straight for civilian targets, it would completely shatter what little ties we have with the Outer Colonies. However, if they have no way of tying the attacks to you, because you are dead, then no ties can be cut."

"This seems more like a black ops mission then, but I still don't see how," Hawke raised his hand to stop him.

"You are going to make it look like it was the Covenant that did it."

Now it was Sam that stopped in his tracks and he turned to face Hawke, disbelief was strewn all across his face, "Make it look like the Covenant did it? How is that even possible?"

"The general public knows significantly less information than we do about the Covenant and we don't know hardly anything, but what we do know is that they are ruthless, unmerciful, and enjoy mass destruction. That's where you come in. I need you to get in, remove the populous, and then get out so we can blow it to hell. With no witnesses and catastrophic damage, plus a few false official reports, the Insurrection will start losing faith in their leadership. And, with your fellow Spartan's taking the fight to the Covenant, the UNSC will start gaining ground with them. The goal being, Samuel, getting all of humanity to realize that the Covenant is our main threat."

This was a lot of information all at once for Sam, but as he pieced it together bit by bit it did make sense. If the UNSC was deemed responsible for attacks on civilians then they would never win over the Insurrectionist, but if the Covenant were believed to be responsible, then just maybe they could get them on their side. The main problem that Sam could see was the part where he had to massacre civilians, presumably unarmed and helpless ones.

"I understand that you may have doubts, but understand that this is for the good of humanity. Just make sure you keep telling yourself that," Hawke folded his arms in front of his chest and began analyzing Sam's body language, trying to figure out if he was coming around to his plan.

"How many targets are we talking about," asked Sam with a hint of interest in his tone.

"As many as it takes. We're in this for the long haul," Hawke did his best to hold back his smirk; he knew that he had gotten him.

"You can count me in, Captain," with hearing that Hawke extended his right hand, which in turn Sam took it and they exchanged a handshake. Hawke smiled ever so slightly, but kept his professionalism about him.

"Very good, Samuel, very good," he pulled his hand away and the two of them started down the passageway once again.

"Welcome to ONI."


	4. Immediate Action

_As you may have noticed I did remove this chapter from the story. Below you will find that the chapter is now complete and will no longer have a, "To Be Continued" portion. In the short time that I had that up I received numerous requests to take it off and simply have a longer chapter. I am more than happy to do that at the request of you, the reader. So, here is the full Chapter Three and I hope you enjoy it._

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**1200 Hours January 1, 2526 (Military Calendar) /  
Holding 25 kilometers from **_**Teresa **_**Medical Facility**_**,  
Orion**_** Colony, **_**Hera**_** System**

A bright, white flash from a slipspace rupture could be seen through the darkness of space. Through the rupture came a small, human vessel, one that was no longer than forty-five meters. Its engines came to life and slowly it began to creep towards the _Teresa_, a massive medical facility that was attached to the _Orion_ colony below via elevator system. Within this unnamed ship, sitting silently at the control panels was Samuel. The MJONIR armor, now only in its second time of use, had been revamped from its original design. Instead of the drab green which it had been originally colored a now deep, midnight black was the look it had. Its once angular armor design had been smoothed out to make it look more, as reports had indicated, like Covenant ships and armor. The area where Sam had been struck by the plasma bolt had been completely repaired and underneath the armor, even his body was fully healed and ready for his first mission with ONI.

Like every mission in the history of military warfare it came with the belief that it was going to be a simple, in-and-out. Samuel, though his experience in actual combat was limited, knew from his years of learning from Deja that most missions never went as planned. Regardless, the objectives were simple in nature; infiltrate the facility, methodically kill all personnel onboard, then send the facility crashing into the colony below, simple. _Hope_ and the eight ships, three destroyers and five frigates, which escorted her, were standing by just outside of the system. Once Sam gave them the signal they would slipspace in and see to it that there were definitely no survivors. In order to make their plan more believable there had to be a reason for the people of _Teresa _and _Orion _to fear the Covenant, that aspect had been in action for nearly twelve hours. Every colony, ship or piece of hardware that could pick up transmissions in the system was getting this warning.

"This is the UNSC destroyer _Marauder _to all UNSC and civilian personnel in the _Hera_ System. There have been reports of Covenant activity in the system. We are currently investigating these reports, but as of 2335 Hours, December 31, 2525 we have been unable to locate any Covenant vessels. Please report any sightings, visual or scanners, immediately to your local Colonial Defense administration. This message is a recording and is set to loop until further notice. _Marauder_ out."

Samuel reached up and pressed a button on the console, silencing the message as he neared the facility. Judging by the lack of vessels in the area one could only guess that the local authorities had already made up their minds that the Covenant would never attack them. They station wasn't on alert, there wasn't a single evacuation shuttle in the air, even the elevator between _Teresa _and _Orion_ was operational, transporting the healthy to the colony and the sick to the facility, making rotations hourly. Sam tapped a few more buttons, adjusted a few levers, and finally turned the COM system back on to broadcast his message to the _Teresa_.

"This is Captain Michael Hammond of the _White Knight_. We have had an unexpected fire in our cargo bay and several of my crewmen are severely burned. Requesting permission to dock with the _Teresa_ medical facility. I say again, I have several severely burned crewmen aboard my ship and we are seeking immediate medical attention. _Teresa_, do you read me?"

There was silence for a moment, but before Sam could resend his message the docking authority aboard the _Teresa_ came across the net.

"_White Knight_ this is _Teresa_ Control. Hold at five kilometers and transmit your ship data. If you refuse to follow these instructions you will be considered hostile and fired upon. If you comply send your data now. Control standing by."

Samuel complied without question; after all, he wanted to get inside of the facility as quietly as possible. He transmitted the stolen data from the previous owner of the ship, a Insurgent weapon smuggler who had already met the same fate that the _Teresa_ was about too. After the information upload and there was the initial pause, the voice came back on.

"_White Knight_, you are clear for approach at docking bay Oscar-110. We will have a security team escort your crew and yourself to the medical facility. We highly encourage you to follow their instructions. _Teresa_ Control out."

"Phase one down," Sam thought aloud as he maneuvered his ship towards the designated docking bay, which was identified by flashing green and white lights.

Leisurely the ship approached, almost coming to a crawl as it passed through the bay doors and finally coming to a hover over the landing pad. Sam lowered the landing gear and slowly set the ship down, releasing the pressure from the hydraulics with a loud _hiss_ and a burst of air from beneath the ship. Sam took a deep breath, leaned back against his seat and closed his eyes. The mission played over and over again in his head.

_Take out the security detail first, move through the lower levels and eliminate personnel, head up to the elevator reception area and disable it, then to COMs and-_

His thoughts were interrupted when a voice came across the docking bays loudspeakers, "_White Knight_ open your cargo doors and make contact with the security detail assigned as your escorts."

"Copy. We're stepping out now."

The whine of the rusty, hydraulic cargo doors echoed throughout the bay, causing the three security members to wince in surprise. They stood in a three meet spread, one standing directly in front of the open doors, the other two three meters off of him in a flanking position. They all were carrying MA5B assault rifles, each one pressed snug into their right shoulders, ready to be raised and fired at any moment. Sam stayed hidden in the shadow of the cargo bay, using the squeal of the doors as a distraction while he briefly studied them. When the doors finally touched the pad and the guards looked towards the opening with confusion, Samuel went on the move.

"Captain Hammond," one of the guards started, but was interrupted by the sight of a large, metallic object come flying out of the back of the ship.

Before any of them could react, Sam was upon them, leaping through the air like an agile predator would on its unsuspecting prey. He landed only a foot from the guard in the middle, causing him to gasp in astonishment equally at the speed which accompanied Sam's size. The air from the gasp hadn't even full escaped his lungs before Sam brought his club sized, black gauntlet up with tremendous force into his open chin. A stomach wrenching crack could be heard as the impact forced the man's lower jaw up into his brain, severing ligaments and spraying blood in all directions. Not even a groan of pain emerged from the guard as he tumbled backwards, falling against the wall with a motionless body. His comrades panicked and froze, not even reacting as Sam engaged them with blinding speed. Again, seeing their hesitation, Sam went on the offensive and turned to his right, closing the ground in only a single, large step.

He reached out with his left hand, pulling the MA5B away from the guard with ease, nearly taking his arms with it if he had been holding on tighter. With a single, fluid motion he tossed the weapon aside, step to his left and brought his knee directly into the unfortunate guards exposed stomach. The force behind the knee ruptured internal organs and had the man even a second to notice, he would have felt the feeling in his legs leave him as Sam's knee shattered his lower back. Pivoting on his straight leg, Sam rotated behind his curled over victim, reached around his neck with his left arm and applied pressure, snapping it with ease. Like a rag doll the guard fell to the ground, this action was apparently the jolt his counterpart needed to regain his senses. His _fight or flight_ reaction kicked in and he chose the flight option, heading for the security door in the bay.

Speed, which was just one of the Spartans main advantages over their enemies and Samuel, was more than happy to exploit their disadvantage. Just like he had done to the other two guards, Sam was upon the third with utter quickness. Reaching out and spinning the guard around, then gripping him by the throat with his left hand and slamming him against the solid, steel walls of the bay. Before he could scream Sam struck him with his free hand, burying his fist into his skull, crushing it like a mallet would a walnut. A loud, metallic thud echoed around the bay as Sam's fist came in contact with the wall behind where the man's skull had once been. His body twitched violently as his nerves were cut off from the brain, but he finally came to rest and Sam dropped the corpse to the ground. The timer on Sam's HUD beeped, revealing that only ten seconds had passed since he had exited the ship; ten seconds, three bodies, he would have to move faster than that.

Sam reached around to his back and removed MA5K assault rifle from his back, then brought it up into his right shoulder and tactically exited the bay. His weapon sported a silencer and shredder rounds to leave his victims as mangled as possible. Cruelty was his main weapon on this mission, complete and utter cruelty. As Hawke had informed him before he left:

_Son, you must be as cruel as inhumanly possible. You, yourself, must be disgusted with your own actions. That is the only way this mission will be a success. They have to believe that no human would ever do such a thing._

So far he was on the right track, leaving behind bloody pulps in the docking bay. As he turned the corner, Sam came across a pair of maintainers working on a ventilation power box. With a quick pull of the trigger he fired a muffled three round burst into both of them. The shredder rounds stayed true to their name, ripping through flesh and bone with ease, tearing away pieces of their bodies with easy. Fragments of splintered bones and blood splattered against the wall as the unarmed men fell to the ground, their tools clattering as they dropped from their lifeless hands. Sam didn't stop, he continued down the corridor, firing upon another maintainer, a woman, who had poked her head out to see what the commotion was. Her head was removed from her shoulders by a well placed round just below her chin. The headless body fell to the ground and convulsed, much like the guard in the docking bay had done when Sam decapitated him.

_Be methodical, be swift._

Instincts were kicking in, muscle memory and all of the tactics that had been crammed into his brain were now flowing through Sam's veins. He moved with the speed of an entire platoon, entering a room, clearing it, and then heading to the next in a matter of seconds. The muffled _thud _of his suppressed weapon could only be heard by the mostly highly trained ear as he entered and cleared room after room. Every docking bay, all thirty eight of them, had been swept and cleared in less than two minutes leaving behind fifteen bodies in various rooms, corridors, and bays throughout the area and Sam still had five rounds left in his current magazine. As he entered the always leading to the elevator which would take him to the lobby, he heard the ding and the _hiss_ of doors opening. His body immediately pulled itself around the corner, taking cover from whoever was exiting the elevator.

Slowly, he peered around the corner, seeing two guards standing idly in the elevator. Sam suspected that they had been sent down to check on the security detail that was sent for his ship, the detail that had failed to report in. Sam wondered why they hadn't left the elevator yet, were they waiting for him or was it the eerie silence of the usually busy docking bay that caught their attention? Regardless of their motives, Sam proceeded to do what he did best and turned the corner in seamless motion, firing down the corridor with accurate fire. One of the guards took a round in his shoulder, removing his left arm and causing the nerves to react, pulling the trigger of the MA5B that was in his hand. Armor piercing rounds sprayed in all directions, some of them punching through the elevator itself, others hitting a more solid surface and ricocheting around the five by five steel box. Their own weapons turned against them as both guards became riddled with the armor piercing rounds and continued fire from Sam. When it was said and done Sam only had one round left in his magazine and MA5B had fired off nearly half of its, filling the guards with pulpy holes.

With hurried, but silenced steps, Sam approached the elevator and did a quick scan of its inside. Two bodies lay bloody and limp on the ground as Sam entered and took his position between the two. He turned and faced the doors, activated the surprisingly undamaged control panel and watched the doors close. He felt the jolt of the elevator being pulled upwards towards the main lobby of the _Teresa_ and was surprised by the groan that escaped the man to his rights lips. Without even looking at him, Sam pointed his rifle over and down, firing off his last round into the man's head, pulverizing it with the close ranged shredder round. He removed the empty magazine, pulled a fresh one out and placed it into the well, then slipped the empty into the open container. The elevator started to slow and he pressed his back against the wall, brought his weapon up into his right shoulder and waited for the audible _ding_ from the panel.

_Ding._

The doors slid open and before Sam was scores of people; nurses, doctors, guards, injured civilians, uninjured, the young and the old. None of them had paid him any notice, as the sound of the elevator coming up had been such a common occurrence. This caused Sam to hesitate for the first time in combat; instinctively he slipped his finger out of the trigger guard and almost lowered his rifle in response to so many civilian targets. The docking bays had been different, he was going for the element of surprise and had to remove all targets in the area, but this, this was going to be a slaughter. Hesitation cost Sam as one of the elderly woman in a wheelchair had finally taken notice to him. It wasn't his massive figure or his black plated armor that caused her to scream in sheer terror, it was the two bullet riddled bodies that lay at his feet. Her scream rose above the chatter of everyone in the room; even Sam was surprised at the projection of her voice. Just like Chief Mendez's voice in their training on Reach.

_Training, Sam, remember your training._

_

* * *

_

**1444 Hours, June 29, 2523 (Military Calendar) /  
Military Reservation 01478-B****, plant Reach**

Thirty children were crammed into the back of a Pelican; their green fatigues clung to their bodies from the heat from the engines mixing with the heat outside. Sweat dripped down Sam's brow, burning his eyes with every drop, but he didn't dare move from his position of attention. Chief Mendez was pulling another one of his exercises, just like he always did, just like _his_ Spartan's expected him to do. They were all thrown into the back of a Pelican that had just come back from combat maneuvers, its hull already hot to the touch from the day's sun on top of the strain that was put on the engines. Mendez stood in the cockpit, door closed behind him, enjoying the cool breeze from the air conditioning with the pilots. He had put them at the position of attention, tucked close together, and ordered them not to consume any water for the duration of their trip to the firing range. They had all been there before and they all knew that it took only fifteen minutes to get there, not three hours.

Despite Mendez's best efforts, though, the children had followed their instructions to the letter. Not a single one of them moved; not for an itch, not to get more comfortable, not even for a drink. He wouldn't admit that he was impressed, because that would have been a lie. Mendez expected this from him, just as they expected him to be hard on them, that's what was going to keep them alive. With a pat on the pilots shoulder, the signal had been given to stop circling the range and finally land. The Pelican shifted and turned on its side slightly, making a B-line for the range. Mendez turned and opened the cockpit door; he scanned over his motionless recruits, each one staring straight ahead with rarely blinking eyes.

"Relax, all of you," he said with utter calmness in his tone, but they didn't budge.

"I said," he leaned towards the closest one, then shouted the next part of his sentence, "relax recruit!"

Nothing once again, the children had learned by now that they only moved when given a certain command from the Chief. He could stand there all day and tell them to drink water, to stand and stretch their legs, anything that he could think of, but they were not going to move. He felt the Pelican begin to slow, then jolt as it touched down on the ground.

"Recruits," he came to attention in the doorway, body stiff as a board, arms pinned at his side, "sit at ease!"

It felt as if the air was going to be sucked out of the back of the Pelican as every child inhaled in unison. Immediately they reached for their canteens, pulling them from their belt loops and as much as they didn't want to, only took sips from it. Just like their previous test, the children had learned that if they swallowed down as much water as they could, the Chief was going to make that water come back up. It was part of his conservation training and it was one of the worst parts.

"Listen up," Chief Mendez started as he paced up and down the center aisle, "today we will be conducting urban warfare training. You will, individually, be entering a structure and you must clear this structure in less than two minutes. Should you fail to complete this task you will be running around the range until it is once again your turn."

Sam brought the canteen to his lips and grumbled while he took a sip, hiding his dissatisfaction with a drink. Mendez glanced in his general direction, looking even the slightest sign of someone's dissent, but Sam was good at keeping a straight face.

"As an added bonus there will be civilians in the Shoot House," Mendez escalated his voice while he spoke as the rear door of the Pelican began to open, "should you meet the time requirements, but so much as scrap a civilian target, you too will be running the range. Any questions? Good. Now double time, fall in at the shoot house. Move, move!"

In unison, as if it had been choreographed, all thirty children stood up and made a facing movement towards the door. There wasn't even a split second of hesitation as they began to jog out to the nearby Shoot House, remaining in formation, all of them in step. The Shoot House or the _Distance Barn_ as some of the children had come to call it—mainly because you would always run the distance—was a three story, concrete structure between two firing ranges. Each level had several windows, the first floor and third floor held the only two doors with the third floor door leading out to a rope that hung from the top of the building, which was where the recruits would slide down when they were finished. Usually, upon reaching the bottom of the rope they would be met with a screaming instructor who would inform them of them failure to meet the time requirement; at which point they would go on a motivational run around the range.

Just like every child, with the exception of Kelly of course, Sam hated running almost as much as he hated losing—and he _hated_ losing. He had been at the _Barn_ three times before over the course of his training, each time he had gotten faster, but he always wasn't fast enough. This time was going to be different; he just had that feeling in his bones that he was going to _actually_ meet the time.

"Alright, recruits open your ears," the voice came from one of the instructors as he approached the front of their formation. "You've all been in the Shoot House, you all know the drill. Chief Petty Officer Mendez has added the special treat of civilians this time. You are his recruits, but these are _my _civilians and _my _civilians do not like to be shot. In _my_ Shoot House all civilians take priority, which means that I don't give two shits about your excuses of why, your mistakes, hell, I don't care about you as a person. Do I make myself clear?"

A resounding _'Yes' _was his answer from the children, in unison, like always. Then with a wave of his hand the children let out a battle cry and bum rushed the nearby tables that held their weapons and ammo. Four tables, each separated by a few meters and each with an instructor standing by at them, were placed in front of the main entrance of the House. The children formed lines behind the various tables, waited for their instructor's permission to approach the table and picked up their MA5B rifles and their ammunition. Once they collected their weapons they headed over to the firing range to the right of the house, taking positions along the firing line. When the last of them was standing in their lane the command was given to clear their rifles. The loud _clicks_ could be heard as bolts were pulled to the rear, the chambers were inspected, and the bolts were sent forward.

"Douglas!" Shouted one of the instructors. "You're up!"

Without missing a beat Douglas removed himself from the line and jogged toward the entrance to the House, holding his rifle diagonally across his body, the muzzle pointing towards the sky. The instructor and Douglas exchanged a few words, he loaded his magazine and charged his weapon, and then with the sound of a buzzer he entered the building with a swift kick through the door. The sound of gunfire echoed throughout the area, each burst coming from different parts of the House as he made his way through the building, going from room to room and floor to floor. Sam kept a count in his head from the very moment Douglas entered, not once letting the instructors or the other children throw him off. He wanted to see what everyone else was capable of, especially Douglas, who over the last year had greatly improved himself. When he noticed Douglas sliding down the rope at the end of the course, he stopped his internal watch and shook his head.

_Two minutes and twenty eight seconds._

The instructor was on top of Douglas before he even hit the ground, screaming profanities and insults in his face. Once he had finished his verbal lashing he pointed off into the distance, the signal for Douglas to start his run. He would be running for over an hour before he would have a chance to redeem himself, Sam wasn't about to run that much today. The next twenty minutes seem to go by slowly as each one of them entered the House and each one of them at the end went the distance. Fred was actually able to finish under the time limit, but he had barely nicked two of the civilians. His punishment for doing so was that his next turn would be skipped; he would have to wait nearly two hours before he could fire again. Sam just shook his head, but snapped too when the instructor called him over to the entrance.

"Recruit, do you understand your instructions?" The instructor questioned, looking over his weapon while he stood there.

"Aye, sir," Sam replied with a motivated 'boom' in his voice.

"You have two minutes from the sound of this buzzer. Do not shoot any civilians and do not miss any targets. Make ready," the instructor raised a handheld buzzer into the air while Sam loaded the magazine, chambered a round, and brought the rifle stock into his shoulder, "GO!"

A loud beep pierced through Sam's ears, but was soon extinguished by the sound of his foot slamming against the door. It flew open in a heap, nearly being knocked off its hinges by the sheer force behind the kick. Sam entered into the first hallway, saw his target and fired a three round burst. The bullets made a straight line up the wooden silhouettes chest, causing the target to fall back to the ground. His muscles took over as if some kind of unseen force was directing him where to go. Sam entered a room to his right, only to find civilian marked targets; he exited and found another room. Two wooden targets shot up from behind a barrier. They were pressed together, one in front with the other right behind it, the one in front labeled with a 'C' for civilian. Sam readjusted his position to get a better angle on the target to the rear, he fired, missing the civilian and striking the 'enemy' with another three round burst.

_You're moving too slow, Sam, pick it up!_

His thoughts kept reassuring him, his muscles kept leading him, and his eyes and ears were giving him an advantage. After clearing the remainder of the first floor, Sam sprinted up the stairs, eliminating a target that popped out at the first top with another burst. He turned the corner and headed down another hallway. Room by room he moved, methodical and swift, dropping targets with accurate fire and missing civilians. The second floor went quick, only three rooms to clear; now Sam rushed up the final flight of stairs and into a wide open floor. Only barriers lay on this floor, which was different from the last time Sam was here. This change caused him to hesitate for barely a second, but the sight of the first group of targets popping up forced his action. He took wide, fast steps forward, his legs going in one direction while his torso pivoted to fire at the targets. The speed and accuracy that he was displaying even surprised him, as he had never moved so quickly before.

As the last group of targets fell, Sam swung the rifle sling over his shoulder and moved the weapon to his back. He sprinted, leapt for the rope and grasped on to it, then slid down with little regard for his hands. The burn from the friction caused him to wince, but that wasn't going to stop him from finishing. With a _thud _he hit the ground and to his surprise the instructor was all over him. Instead he was leisurely approaching him, a faint satisfied look on his face as he walked.

"One minute and fifty three seconds, recruit. Not only that but you managed to miss all of _my _civilians," he sarcastically clapped his hands together, "I think you've earned yourself an award, what do you think?"

Sam didn't reply, he just stood at the position of attention, his chest moving up and down as his adrenaline had finally worn off and his exhaustion became evident.

"Since you've proven you know how to run the Shoot House, I think your next task should be to get the rest of your platoon on the same page as you. I want you to catch up with every single one of those failures and instruct them on how to properly run my course. That sounds like a pretty fair award. Get a move on it."

All of the color was flushed from Sam's face at the sound of that news. This reminded him of the story that John had told him about when they first met and John won, but in the end was still the loser. He bit his tongue and gritted his teeth, slung the rifle into the diagonal position in front of his body and started jogging after the closest other child to him.

* * *

**1223 Hours January 1, 2526 (Military Calendar) /  
Main Elevator Lobby, **_**Teresa **_**Medical Facility**_**,  
Orion**_** Colony, **_**Hera**_** System**

_Fire at armed targets only, don't hit the civilians._

Her scream was piercing, striking Sam in the eardrums like a mallet and knocking him of his trance. He couldn't take it and he pulled back on the trigger, sending a single round into the woman's chest, silencing her forever. Sam just stood there, his senses completely numb; getting that shot off had taken all of his strength. That single round went against everything that he had ever learned, it went against the very principles that he had sworn to uphold: protect humanity.

"What have I done?" He voiced aloud to himself as he watched the change of emotion on her face go from terrified to utter pain.

The force of the impact caused her chest to cave in, the wheelchair to topple backwards, and the rate at which the terror in the room was rising to double. Panic was the first reaction from everyone, including the guards whose sole purpose was to remain calm in situations like these. This basic human reaction is what snapped Sam back to reality and gave him the opening he needed to remove key pieces off of the tactical chessboard. Several well placed, accurate shots, ripped through the crowds, striking down the guards that we visible amongst the panic. With every shot that Sam took he slowly began to creep out of the elevator, meticulously picking out his armed targets and eliminating them. With every shot he fired he could hear the audible _ping_ of the empty shell casings hitting the metal floor beneath his feet; he was completely oblivious to the dying screams of his enemies.

It was utter pandemonium in the lobby of the _Teresa_ as Sam unleashed his salvo of automatic weapon fire. Bodies were thrown off of their feet from the impacts of the shredder rounds, blood splattered against the wall in an artistic-like pattern, and the casualties were starting to pile up. Those that were fortunate enough to be in the backs of the crowds now had to fight their way over their friends and family that now littered the lobby floor. Guards, unsure of who the shooter was in the panic, began firing into the crowd in hopes of clearing them out. Civilians had nowhere to go and nowhere to hide. Coming towards them were the guards that were sworn to protect them, now firing blindly into their mist, hoping to end the carnage. Behind them was yet another protector, this one firing accurately into them, spreading his rounds out to create the most damage. From the moment Sam had fired his first shot into the elderly woman in the wheelchair nearly one hundred people were scattered across the lobby, dead or dying.

As the civilian crowd started thinning out, the security personnel started piling in. Armed gunmen came from every available doorway, each one forcing their way through what people were fortunate enough to slip through the hail of gunfire. Sam felt the kick of his rifle as he fired off the weapons last few rounds, he pressed the magazine release button and the empty clip fell to the ground. At that moment Sam was vulnerable, for quite possibly the first time since the attack on _Teresa_ began. The security personnel that arrived were not as ill trained as Sam had originally predicted, as they took their positions behind various forms of cover and began their counterattack on him. Instincts kicked in and Sam dashed for the nearby receptionist desk, leapt when he was still several meters away, then landed in a heap behind it. Rounds struck the wooden desk causing splinters to erupt from both sides of its thin walls. Sam proceeded to roll in reaction to the incoming fire till he hit the back wall, stopping his movement instantly.

Sparks streaked across the ground as the bullets struck all around him, some getting close enough to ricochet harmlessly off his armor. The fire continued for another ten seconds before Sam heard each individual sound of their weapons dropping their empty magazines. Sam laid there for a second, slipping a fresh magazine into his weapon and listening intently for the sound of them beginning their push towards his position. The silence was drown out by the groans of the dying, pleading with the guards to save them, but right now they had a much bigger problem on their hands. At the moment the battle had entered into a brief stalemate; Sam, being on the losing end of firepower and position was reassessing his next move and his attackers, being on the losing end of fear and having no idea what they were facing were unwilling to move on Sam's position. Spartan's, though, in many stalemates such as this, had the tiebreaker.

Sam reached for one of the M9 Fragmentation Grenades on his thigh, pulled it away from the magnetic stripping and pressed the priming button. From his back he rose into a seated position, quickly scanned the location of the guards and selected the area that would cause the most significant damage. Find that area, he stretched his arm back, then swung it forward, tossing the grenade directly into the chest of one of the guards on far end of the lobby. Air was forced from the guards lungs, despite having on a protective chest plate and he stumbled backwards, taking the grenade with him. His comrades were frozen at first; curious as to what had struck him, but once the grenade rolled off of his chest they began to scatter in panic. Sam now leapt to his feet, bringing his rifle to bear and started firing at a different group of enemies who had poked their heads out of cover to see what was going on.

_3…_

A shredder round pierced through one of the guards helmet, head, then back out through the rear of the helmet. Brain matter, metal, and bone splashed against the man next to him, sending him into an uncontrolled fit of fear. Like before Sam used this to his advantage, sending a burst into his chest, ripping his internal organs to shred as the rounds passed through his body.

_2…_

Sam rushed into the reception table, breaking right through it with ease due to its weakened structure from the earlier gunfire. He began to select his targets around the room, picking out the ones who were taking aim at him first, then moving onto the ones who were foolish enough to leave cover.

_And 1…_

Enormous heat erupted from where the grenade had come to a stop, spraying shrapnel in all directions, striking the fleeing guards in the back as they ran. Their legs gave way beneath them as the metal fragments severed their leg muscles, broke their spines or shoved their way into the backs of their skulls. Some of the fragments made it to Sam's armor, harmlessly bouncing off of his visor or the black plating. Once slightly confident in their counterattack the guards of the _Teresa_ were now in just as much a state of panic as the civilians had been at the beginning. They now made an attempt at an unorganized retreat, pushing into one another as they rushed towards the doors leading away from the lobby. Sam picked them off one by one, feeling no remorse for shooting them in the back as they tried to flee.

_Ping. Ping. Ping._

Each empty shell casing that hit the ground was accompanied by a body, sometimes even two. When it was all said and done, the terror faced corpses of twenty three more guards was added to the civilian death count. Sam stood motionless in the center of the lobby, blood pooling beneath his feet, mixing and churning from the sheer amount of it. His eyes darted back and forth, searching the area for any targets, doing his best not to look down at the twisted fallen beneath him. Seeing none he went back on the move, stepping on the bodies as he walked towards one of the doorways. Bones were snapped and those that were still partially alive yelled out with what little they had left as the intense weight of the MJONIR crushed their fragile bodies. He stepped into an empty hallway, seeing the various blood trails that lead towards another door on the far end. Sam moved surprisingly quiet down the corridor, his eyes falling on each doorway that he passed, instinctively expecting someone to jump out. His thoroughness with clearing had ended after the bloodbath in the lobby, as it was now apparent that everyone in the station knew he was here.

Sam approached the doorway at the end of the hall, its automatic sensors activated and it slid open, revealing another large room this one filled with medical equipment and hospital beds. To the right of the room were two very large doors, each easily ten meters high by ten meters wide. Those doors are what led to the elevator system that brought up the sick and wounded from _Orion_. The elevator lights were blinking furiously and judging by the low humming noise coming from the doors it was now apparent that those who had first escaped the lobby fire fight were heading down to the colony. Sam rushed towards the control panel to the right of the doors and began punching in a code sequence. Nothing, someone had overridden the system from the main control room, this was a one way trip for the occupants of the elevator. If they reached the colony then they would be able to transmit a message; a message that would blow the lid on Sam's entire mission. He cursed himself for being so careless in letting people escape, but then returned his focus on the tasks at hand. Again he typed in a series of numbers and letters into the control panel, this time is gave an acknowledging beep and information began to scroll down the screen. Sam taped the arrow keys a few times till he found what he was looking for; the estimated arrival time of the elevator to the surface.

Fifteen minutes. That's all the time that he had to clear an entire facility. Sam couldn't help but laugh as the sheer thought of completing such a task seemed impossible. He began to go over his options when he heard the rattle of something falling behind him. Remaining still he just listened, hearing the faint footsteps moving closer to him. There was at least six, possibly more, they were trying to move quietly, but quiet was still too loud when facing Sam. In a flash he turned, brought his rifle into his shoulder and picked his targets. There were ten more security guards; two of them armed with HMG-38's, heavy machine guns designed to shred through lightly armored vehicles. Sam didn't waste a single moment, he engaged one of the heavily armed guards, sending a round through his thigh, ripping through the femoral artery and spraying blood in every direction. The man screamed in agony, fell on his back and tossed his weapon aside, turning his attention from Sam to the blood gushing from his leg. Having obviously not seen Sam's work in the adjacent lobby, these guards were just as shocked to see the amount of blood as those that had come before them. Looks of disgust and terror crossed their features, giving Sam the time he needed to close to the distance.

As Sam approached them, he spun his weapon around, sticking it to his back via the magnetic stripping. With a single, smooth motion he removed a twelve inch combat knife from his right shoulder pauldron with his left hand. He brought the blade out and down, slicing it through the lower neck of the closest guard. A stream of blood ejected from the severed artery and the man fell to the ground, helplessly holding the wound. His allies, now aware of their skilled threat, started on the offensive and the remaining HMG-38 gunner let loose a barrage of highly inaccurate fire on Sam.

"Die you mother-"

This was the last thing Sam heard before the roar of the gunfire completely drowned out all other sounds. He turned on his heels and ran as fast as he could _towards_ the highest concentration of guards. They panicked, unsure of what to do they started to backpedal and fire their weapon from the hip. Sam leapt side to side, easily avoiding the poorly placed rounds coming from in front and behind him. When he was within a few feet he performed an acrobatic jump up and over the group of guards. They watched in awe as his body twisted and turned over him, despite being so heavily armored. Little did they know that they were about to fall victim to friendly fire. Upon landing Sam continued in the same direction of travel, leaving the guards behind him. They turned to engage him, but before they could they were met with a hail of gunfire from the adrenaline filled, trigger squeezing, terrified heavy gunner. Their bodies bounced about as hundreds of rounds a minute came in contact with their frail frames. When the gunner realized what he had done he released the trigger and looked on in shock.

By this time Sam had already returned to the fight and cut his way through the rest of the guards, removing limbs and severing arteries. In the seconds that the gunner had opened up, Sam had aided in the deaths of all but one of them. Seeing that he was all alone the guard reacted the only way he knew how. He dropped his weapon, pushed it across the floor and dropped down on his knees, then began to beg. Sam approached him slowly, swiping his knife through the air, causing blood droplets to paint the floor around him. Once he was standing almost on top of the guard he slipped the knife back into his pauldron, then reached down and grabbed the man by the top of his skull, lifting him to his feet and into the air. Sam applied slight pressure, causing the man to scream in agony as the feeling of his brain being smashed overtook him.

"The control room," Sam said softly, but the screams overcame his voice, "THE CONTROL ROOM!"

His voice boomed through the emitter, slapping sense into the man who dangled helplessly in front of Sam. The guards' eyes fell upon the reflective visor that was before him; he watched his image as tears started to fall from his eyes. Finally, after gathering his courage the man responded.

"Three stories up, directly in the middle of the station. You can't miss it," he whimpered.

Sam gave a slight nod and brought his other hand to the man's throat. With a quick application of force he snapped his neck, and then lowered his body to the ground, placing him on his back gently. Now that he had the knowledge he had to find the means to reach the control room. Sam scanned his surrounds till his eyes came across a large stairwell leading up. Common sense would dictate that those stairs would eventually lead to the third floor. Following his instincts Sam rushed towards the steps and then up them, moving with a great sense of purpose.

_13:13._

The HUD on his visor indicated how much time he had before the elevator reached the colony. It seemed strange how just months ago he was watching the timer countdown to his death and now here he was, acting as death itself. The facility seemed quiet, much to quiet for a place that was home to hundreds of patients and staff. On his way up to the third floor Sam only ran into a handful of people, one guard and three doctors. His bare hands were enough to dispatch them all, but not before getting information from one of the wounded doctors. Apparently the Chief of Medical Operations onboard the _Teresa_ was getting ready to head to the surface when the attack in the lobby kicked off. He gathered up what people made it out alive and override the system, making it so no one could follow him down. What was left of the administration ordered all personnel to evacuate to the upper most floor, in hopes that security would be able to slow down Sam until help arrived.

_11:34._

Sam tossed the doctors body aside, the upper part of his head caved in from intense pressure, the holes made by what appeared to be finger prints dripped with blood. Sam exited the stairwell on the third floor, rounded the corner and found a long corridor leading to a pair of double doors. Two guards stood at the end of the hallway, their guns trained on Sam as soon as he came around the corner. They opened up and Sam reacted, dropping to his stomach and pulling his rifle from his back. Two bursts into both guards' legs dropped them; two more to their craniums killed them. Sam got back on his feet and jogged down hallway, stopped in front of the door and read the writing upon it, which revealed that this was indeed the control room. Sam at first made the civilized attempt at opening the sealed door, but like the elevator all override codes had been installed. He went to his second plan and removed a napalm grenade from his thigh, removed a magnetic strip that held his magazines and placed it on the door, then placed the grenade on the strip. With a press of the button he activated the grenade and slowly back pedaled away from the door. After a few seconds the grenade went off, exploding in a fury of flames and molten shrapnel. Fire erupted all around the door, causing it to instantly burn a bright orange color. Sam waited a few more seconds, allowing the door to continue to burn before he charged forward, lowered his shoulder and slammed into the softened door.

Heat engulfed his suit and the molten steel clung to his armor like glue. Warning messages erupted across his HUD as Sam came to a halt on the other side of the door. He shook violently, tossing the molten material in all directions, splashing it against the walls of the control room. When the last of it was off of his body the warning message stopped and once again there was silence in his suit.

_Not the most graceful thing I've ever done, but effective._

Video monitors lined one of the walls of the room, revealing that the doctor had indeed told the truth about the remaining survivors. There had to be at least over three hundred people packed tightly into a large storage room at the very top of the facility. Scattered amongst them were armed guards and doctors trying to keep the peace. Outside of the storage room the guards had set up make shift defenses, ranging from hospital beds to tables and chairs. It was a fairly well fortified position; one that Sam didn't have enough time to attack head on.

_8:05._

Time was running short and Sam had to think quick and he had to come up with a way to eliminate everyone that was left in the facility, everyone that was in the elevator going away, and ultimately everyone on the colony. As he searched over the controls, monitors, even the medical logs he finally came to the conclusion that his best bet for bringing this whole facility was to turn it completely upside down and propel it downwards like a rocket. To do this he was going to need the _Hope_ and her escorts and they had to get there quick. Sam got on the COM channel of the _Teresa_ and sent the signal code across the net. It was a series of high pitched beeps and screeches, something that anyone who was listening would deem as interference. He then waited for the return single, which was the exact same signal he sent out, only backwards. It didn't take long for the _Hope_ to reply and less than two minutes later Sam could hear the rumbling of the starships outside of the facility.

_6:34._

"Hit it with an Archer on the starboard side," Sam came across his suit COM, now that the _Hope_ was close enough for the encrypted radio frequency.

"Mind telling me what you have planned?" The voice that came across was Captain Hawke; he seemed slightly irritated that the facility was still operational.

"I'm going to turn off the facilities stabilizers on the port side and redirect their power to the starboard. With an impact from an Archer and full power this facility should start to turn on its side. I'm going to spin this thing all the way around and then drive it down into the colony."

There was silence on the other end for a second or two before Hawke came back on, "Archer ready to fire."

Sam punched in a series of commands into the computer, his bulky fingers dancing across the keyboard. The facility got a sudden jolt from its starboard side as Sam redirected all of the power to that side. He could feel the _Teresa_ starting to lean and the screeching of medal echoed throughout her hull.

"Fire," Sam stated over the COM and then braced himself against the control panel, waiting for the impact.

5:45.

An explosion rocked the _Teresa_ and the lights dimmed, and then turned off all together. Seconds passed for the backup power came online and by that time she was already starting to tumble. The entire frame of the facility started to bend and snap until finally its lower portion, the part connected to the elevator, completely removed itself from the shaft. Huge chunks of debris started to float through space as the facility continued to turn. Emergency sirens and lights came on all around the facility, ordering all personnel to dawn their atmosphere suits and head towards the nearest evacuation point. Sam kept his body pressed up against the control panel, using all of his strength to stay in one place as the _Teresa_ slowly started to turn on her side.

_3:54._

She was now completely horizontal from her original position in space, Sam now standing straight on top of the control panel. He crouched down, typed in a few more commands, and then leapt up towards the door, using the loss of gravity to his advantage. He climbed his way up the hallway, pushing the floating bodies of the guards out of his way, and then gripped the stairwell railings, dragging himself back towards the main lobby.

"Hit the top with another Archer at an angle, turn us upside down," Sam, seemingly ordered, over the COM net.

Hawke made it happen, striking the facility with another missile, this one ripping through the hull and breaching the massive upper level storage area. Almost instantly the _Teresa_ started heading downwards, her top now becoming the bottom and her bottom becoming her top. Sam held on tightly to the railings as the massive facility shifted and twisted.

"We've got a lot of bodies being pulled out through the last breach. Where those part of your plan?" Hawke's voice boomed through Sam's COM link.

"Partially," Sam managed to get out with a grunt as he began to now pull himself upwards towards the lobby, "let me know when we're vertical."

_2:10_

By now Sam had reached the main lobby, pushed his way through the floating bodies of the deceased and made it to the elevator that he arrived there in. Only emergency power was on, so the elevator wasn't functioning, but it didn't matter, Sam was about to make his own way out.

"You will be completely vertical in ten seconds," Hawke said with extreme calmness in his voice, none of this seemed to bother him.

This time Sam didn't respond, he simply pulled a remote device from his thigh, metallic strip and flipped the protective plastic cap off of the detonation button. He counted down in his head from five and when he reached zero he pressed the button. For the third time in as many minutes the _Teresa_ was hit with an explosion, this one coming from _inside_ of her this time. The floor above Sam erupted in flames and debris, followed by a suction of what little oxygen that remained being pulled out through the massive hole that was created by the self destruction of _his ship_. The explosion hit the facility with enough force to cause it to shoot straight down, slamming into the fractured elevator shaft that was still being pulled down to the planet by the colonies systems.

1:00

Like an arrow splitting a wooden stick the _Teresa_ pierced downwards, splitting the elevator shaft as it plummeted towards _Orion_. Massive explosions echoed throughout the ship as Sam tried to force himself up through the hole which had recently been created. He leapt from debris to debris, pushing off of each one to give himself more lift. As he made it through the lobby floor, Sam looked up to see nothing but space above him. His ships self destruction had ripped a massive hole through the lower part of the _Teresa_ completely destroying the docking bays and anything that was between them and the lobby. Sam gripped a nearby piece of the facilities structure and then pulled himself up with all of his strength, using a sling shot effect to propel himself upwards towards the opening at the bottom of the ship. Even in space he could hear the metal on metal colliding below him and he could feel the heat starting to rise as the _Teresa_ began to push into the planet's atmosphere.

Sam swayed himself side to side, narrowly avoiding the larger pieces of debris as he shot through space. In the darkness he could vaguely make out one of the destroyers that were escorting the _Hope_. As he emerged out of the facility, Sam activated his suits beacon, signaling to the fleet that he was now out of the facility and in space. They had to hurry, it wouldn't be long before the planets gravity would have a full hold on him and pull him into the atmosphere. Luckily for Sam, Hawke had already deployed Pelican drop ships to the area and seconds after activating his beacon he was snatched up by a tow cable and pulled into one of the Pelicans. As the Pelican ascended towards the _Hope_, Sam looked back through one of the port holes and watched as the _Teresa_ slammed into the elevator that was going down, ripping it to shreds under its massive weight, then fell upon the _Orion_ colony with biblical proportion. A massive, white light engulfed the entire area, sending a shockwave out through the atmosphere, moving clouds and the falling debris away from _Orion_.

_The facilities reactors must have detonated upon impact. _

That little calculation had eluded Sam in his initial planning and he had not expected them to react the way they did. Regardless, at the moment it appeared that he had achieved his objectives and he returned to his seat, waiting for the Pelican to dock with the cruiser. As the Pelican landed inside of the docking bay of the _Hope_ and its bay doors opened, Sam was met immediately by Captain Hawke.

"Damn good job, Samuel, damn good job," Hawke extended his hand as Sam stepped off the back of the Pelican.

"Thank you, sir," Sam accepted his hand and lightly shook it, making sure as to not cause harm to the Captain.

"Our scanners are picking up catastrophic damage to _Orion_ and the _Teresa_, well; it's safe to say that she is no more. We've already started up channeling the reports that we arrived to find the facility and the colony in complete ruins. By this time tomorrow everyone will believe that the Covenant attacked this sector and left it utterly destroyed. I say again, damn good job!" Captain Hawke was as giddy as a child; this was exactly the type of quality work that he expected from a Spartan.

"Now, get yourself cleaned up and get that suit over to maintenance. We're jumping out of system in thirty and I need to brief you on our next target."

"Aye, sir," Sam's voice lacked the motivation that one might have after completely a mission, he felt numb, incomplete. He watched as Hawke headed back towards the bridge, his excitement was far to great for so many lives being lost that day. Sam shook his head and removed his helmet, then ran his armored hand through his hair. He felt a wet, sticky substance drip down his brow and he looked down at his hand, now remembering how many lives it had taken that day and how some of those lives still stained the gauntlet.

_It's for the good of mankind. Yeah, right._


	5. No Mercy

_Alright, folks, here is what I like to call a "Set Up Chapter." I know it's a little on the short side, but it plays a significant role in the story. I hope you enjoy it and I should have the next chapter up by the end of the week. Thanks again for your support in reading this and I hope you keep coming back for more, "Sierra-034."_

_-Joker  
_

* * *

**Ninth Age of Reclamation  
Prophet of Mercy's Chamber,  
Covenant Holy City, **_**High Charity**_

_High Charity_ was the cradle of the Covenant juggernaut, a beacon lit by the flame that was the Forerunner Dreadnought. This massive, holy city was going to be the vessel which leads the Covenant to the _Great Journey_ and inside was her Prophets, the supreme beings that would ignite the flames and start their ascension. Little did the rest of the Covenant know that their holy leaders kept with them a terrible secret, a secret that caused them to be untrustworthy; not just with their followers, but with each other. One of these Prophets, the Prophet of Mercy was a frail, aged San 'Shyuum by any standards. His body arched forward, his skin a wrinkled and dry, he didn't give off the persona as a leader instead he seemed like a teacher, someone who believed in lecture over all. His gravity throne vibrated as he hovered about his chambers, moving back and forth, making his best effort not to pace but doing so anyways. He was waiting for someone, someone who in the coming years would be more important than he was or at least that is what he would make them believe. The sound of footsteps subsided Mercy's anxiety and he rotated his craft to see who his visitor was. A golden armor clad Sangheili approached Mercy, stopping a several meters away from his craft and dropped to a knee, bowing his head as he did and bringing his right arm across his chest.

"Hierarch, the Minister of Faith has requested an audience with you. Shall I allow him passage?" The Honor Guard Sangheili didn't even look up at Mercy as he spoke; he kept his eyes focused straight ahead to the ground.

Mercy couldn't help but smirk, he always felt a chill when the fierce warriors from Sanghelios bowed down before his brethren and himself, "Yes, send him in."

"It will be done, Hierarch," the hulking guard rose to his feet and turned, never once looking up to meet eyes with Mercy; a good, little soldier.

Only moments after the Sangheili left did another hover craft enter the chamber. It lacked the decorative designs of Mercy's and was far more dated than his own, but still managed to get around well enough. Residing in the craft was a far younger San 'Shyuum, the Minister of Faith, one of Mercy's closest and most trustworthy _acquaintances_. He was barely half as old as Mercy, sat straight up in his chair, and his skin was almost completely smooth, bearing only a few wrinkles. The Minister of Faith was in charge of distributing religious propaganda to the Covenant's ranks, needless to say his job wasn't one of great responsibility or stress.

"Faith," Mercy moved his craft towards Faith's, stopping only inches away from his, "it has been too long. I haven't seen you since the ceremony. Where have you been?"

Faith, before even speaking a word, bowed his head in respect for Mercy and the position that he held. Mercy waved his hand back and forth in reaction, giving the notion that this was no place for formalities.

"We have known each other too long for you to be bowing your head to me. Outside you are more than welcome to put on a show, but in private we are equals," Mercy placed his frail hand upon Faith's shoulder and smiled.

"If that is what you desire, Mercy," he placed his hand upon Mercy's shoulder and the two exchanged smiles, "you are right, it has been too long. And as for me, well, since we have started this war with those retched heretics, I have been busy ensuring our warriors never lose their faith."

"Blessings be upon you for your devotion towards the Great Journey," Mercy added with a smile as he turned and made his way over to a nearby counter, where he began to pour Faith and himself a drink.

"If you would excuse me for being brash, why is it that you have summoned me? To your private chamber no less. For as long as I've known you, Mercy, you have never been much for holding secrets."

This statement caused Mercy to stumble, just slightly, causing some of the liquid that he was pouring into the container fall to the counter. He was still getting used to holding in the secret about the war against the humans and sometimes little comments like that would get him a bit anxious. Mercy recovered quickly though and finished pouring the drink, then returned back to Faith's side with one in each hand.

"Is it wrong for me to want to meet up with an old student of mine? Just because I am a High Prophet," upon saying that Mercy straightened up in his chair, "doesn't mean that I have forgotten about those who supported me in the past and still support me today. Drink?"

Mercy extended the drink towards Faith and immediately the aroma smacked Faith in the face. It had a very pungent smell and it had definitely been fermenting as long as Faith was old. With a smile, though, Faith accepted the drink and the two rose them up above shoulder length.

"May we all walk the path to the Great Journey," Faith declared while holding his drink up high.

"Yes and may we crush those who deny us our right," added Mercy who immediately downed the drink in one, loud _gulp_. His manners were never very good when it came to beverages of the, shall we say, intoxicating variety.

Faith merely took a sip of his drink, and then placed it down on his hover craft, "You still haven't told me why I'm here."

"Ah, I should have known I couldn't use my tricks on you," Mercy chuckled slightly; the intoxicant was already taking its effect.

"You have taught me well, Mercy," Faith forced a smile, still feeling a little uneasy about this whole situation.

"Indeed I have, indeed I have," he brought his frail, wrinkled hands in front of his face, resting his head about them, "tell me, have you ever met my other brethren? Truth and Regret?"

The look on Faith's face said it all, but he answered anyways, "Ministers in my position rarely meet with the High Prophets, unless of course we are summoned as I have been or are being tried for heresy."

"So is that a 'No'?" Mercy glared into Faith's eyes. That answer was a run around, though Mercy himself was guilty of such acts, he refused to accept it from his subordinates.

Instantly Faith's expression changed, his eyes widened at the sight of Mercy's dissent and he immediately rephrased his answer, "I have had minor contact with the Prophet of Regret while he continues his campaign against the heretics, but I have never met with or been in the presence of the Prophet of Truth."

"That's the answer I was looking for. Now tell me, what was your opinion of them?" The earlier conversation about them being equals in this room had gone out the window; Mercy was now intent on forcing his position upon Faith.

"The Prophet of Regret is very aggressive in his search for our enemies' worlds and his faith is unbreakable, but as I said, I have not had any contact with the Prophet of Truth," Faith reached down for his drink, picked it up and took a larger sip than before. It burnt going down, but he didn't care, he was already sweating from his sudden turn of events; going from conversation to interrogation.

Mercy, having achieved the state of shock in Faith that he had desired, pulled back on his verbal assault and rested his arms down on his throne, "What if I were to tell you that they both wanted me dead?"

Shock overcame Faith and he dropped his drink onto his craft, spilling the liquid all over him and causing its container to roll onto the floor. Mercy just sat there, watching as his guest squirmed in his seat, trying to push the fluids off of his robe. He didn't blink and kept as serious of a face as he had ever made; anyone would know that he was telling the truth. After a minute or two Faith finally settled down, straightened out his robe and looked directly at the unnerved Mercy.

"You can't be serious? Why.. they are your brethren, they are the Hierarchs of the Covenant, by the Forerunners, all of you have only just recently been placed in your position! What reason do they have to bring about your demise? I see no evidence that-" With a raise of Mercy's hand, Faith stopped his babbling.

"Their reason is like all others, power. Why settle for a small portion when the only thing standing in your way to a much larger piece is a frail, old, miserable San 'Shyuum? My time spent hidden away from the rest of our Covenant has left me with very little allies. Yes, I am a High Prophet and what I wish will be done, but I will need more than my position if I want to live to see the Great Journey. This is where you come in, Faith."

"How? How can I help you, one of the three High Prophets of the Covenant! I spread the word of our Faith to our fleets, to our soldiers; I do not have any background in things of this nature," there was now a sense of nervousness in Faith's voice, each word coming out with a slight vibration around it.

Mercy leaned back against his seat, bringing his hands up to his chin once again and stared at Faith with unblinking eyes. In response Faith began to sit with unrest, shifting around in his craft, straightening his robes in a nervous habit. The High Prophet just watched and observed, could he be wrong about Faith? No, he was the most trustworthy San 'Shyuum that he knew and if he couldn't do it, then no one could.

"I understand your doubts in your abilities," he started, "but you need to realize that you have more pull than most. For instance, you are well known throughout our ranks. Why? It is all because of the position that you hold. When our warriors go into battle, it is your lectures that they hear in their mind, your voice that fills them with the fighting spirit, the spirit that will take them on the Great Journey. Already you have started on the path of becoming a leader; all you need to do now is gain the respect of the Council. And what makes the Council respect you faster than anything else? Victory. Our Sangheili commanders are not where they are because of their ability to _motivate_ their warriors. They are there because they _get.. the job.. done_."

A moment of silence passed, Faith resting his chin against one of his hands, contemplating everything that was happening at the moment. It was a lot that was suddenly on his shoulders, both of them knew this, but Mercy didn't have time to break the news to Faith gradually, he needed action now.

"The Sangheili," Faith's words pierced the silence, "they will never follow me. You are just as aware of my past with them as I am. They see me as some type of, Inquisitor, someone who purposely looks to destroy those that have trouble seeing our truths."

"Your past with them is of no consequence to your task. They will follow you because you will follow me, that is all that they need," it wasn't much of an answer, but it was the best that Mercy could give considering Faith's, complicated, past with the Sangheili.

Faith just shook his head, for the first time showing signs of disagreement, "No, if I am to do this I can't have those under me being only loyal to you. If it goes wrong, I will be the first that they cast aside. No, the Sangheili will not do."

"What do you suggest then?" Faith's response caused Mercy to become defensive; his _will _would always be enough for the Sangheili.

"The Jiralhanae," the color now was washed from Mercy's face, but Faith continued. "They proved themselves on the human planet, Harvest wasn't it called? Yes. They are savage and brash; they will do well for the task. You want me to be victorious and I can't do that with the Sangheili, they will ask questions and they will be suspicious. Not the Jiralhanae, they are loyal, driven by a divine spark. They, yes, they will see it through."

"Are you sure of this? The Jiralhanae are vicious, primal creatures. I, myself, don't hold the Sangheili in high regard, but to replace them for the Jiralhanae? They are instinct driven creatures, showing no signs of significant rational thought," Mercy wasn't trying to make Faith change his mind, but he wanted him to make sure that this is what he wanted.

"Exactly," Faith smiled, "they don't think, they listen and they act."

Mercy reached for his drink, tilted it up, but remembered too late that he had swallowed it all before. Disheartened he tossed the container aside; it smacked the wall with a resounding _thud_, then fell to the ground.

"Very well, I will see to it that your ships are comprised of Jiralhanae. The Sangheili won't be pleased about this," he chuckled, "not that it matters much to either of us."

Faith nodded, "Now, what exactly will I be doing?"

"Winning, my brother, winning. You need to gain the utmost respect from the Council, in doing so, you will gain their favor. With their favor comes many possibilities, but with my recommendation and their favor, comes utmost power," Mercy moved his throne to the counter where he had made the drinks previously, then poured the two of them another. He returned back to Faith, handed him his drink, and then continued.

"In the event that my brothers betray me, the Council will receive a recommendation from me with my death request being for you to take my place. With your victories against the heretics and my wishes, you will have no trouble taking my place. You will also not have a problem with becoming the most, how do you say, influential Hierarch. As powerful as Truth's words are, he has never personally overseen a war and as eager as Regret is, he sits in the background and watches the fight from afar. You, Faith, your ship will personally lead the attacks; you will oversee the ground engagements, not from orbit but from the field themselves! You will become a hero within the Covenant, the destroyer of the heretics and the beacon that started the Great Journey!"

It was speeches like this that made Mercy as influential as he was. He could bring courage out of an Unggoy with no legs and still make him fight to the death. It seemed that his gift had worked yet again, this time on the one who would replace him, should his brothers ever see him as no longer valuable. Faith rose his drink up once again; Mercy met his with his own.

"To the Great Journey," Mercy started.

"No, Mercy, to _**power**_."


	6. Freezer Burn

_Sorry that it took so long for the update, but over the last week I've had to write well over 200 pages of notes and quite frankly at the end of the day I didn't have the desire to write anymore. Next chapter should be up faster than this, but I'm not going to make any promises. Hope you enjoy it._

_(**EDIT:** Made some quick edits here and there. Didn't like the way the chapter ended, made it sound almost.. well.. stupid, so I fixed it up a bit. Next chapter is going to be a long one now that I started pounding it out. I'm pretty excited for it. Hopefully everyone who wants to read this story can, as I have noticed a great decrease in hits/visitors since switching this over to the 'Mature' rating. If you like this, pass the word on, if you dislike this, pass the word on. Keep the reviews coming, they'll only help either by keeping my motivation for this story alive or by making it flow better with your input. Thanks again.)  
_

_-Joker  
_

* * *

A soft breeze blew across the open wheat field, swaying the golden brown strands back and forth. Sam stood there, still as could be, the bright sun beating down on his olive colored MJOLNIR armor. He inhaled slowly, taking in the fresh air through the vents on the side of his helmet. Instinctively he closed his eyes, enjoying the smell—the taste—of fresh air, it had been so long since he had been home. So long in fact that he couldn't even remember what to call it; only that he recognized it as home, by sight, by sound, by every sense he had. _This_ _was home_. He finally opened his eyes and began looking around, seeing the wheat fields going as far off as even _his_ eyes could see. Yet in the distance something caught his eye, a town, no, a city of some sort.

Its outline against the sky, the size and shape of the buildings, none of it seemed familiar, but Sam knew deep down that it must've been the home that he left so long ago. He expected change in the time that he was gone and quickly shrugged off the idea that he was mistaken in his surroundings.

_I'm home._

"I'm home!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, the voice booming through the emitter on his helmet.

All of the old feelings came rushing over him and he felt just like a kid again. The childhood that he never had, the fun that was taken away by training, he was finally going to get all of that back. Though he was sixteen, he still wanted to act like he was six and no one was going to tell him how to act otherwise. All of the excitement in his body finally reached its boiling point and was released with a burst of energy that sent Sam sprinting towards the city in the distance. Wheat stalks parted before him as he pushed through the field, leaving a darkened trail in his wake. It didn't take him long at all to reach the outskirts of the city, but the closer he got to it the more _off_ it felt.

Sam's feet came down heavy on the concrete that seemed to come from nowhere at the edge of the field. He looked down at his feet, having not expected the sudden change in terrain and now he couldn't help but feel something was different about his home, very different. His concerns were swept away though at the sound of people talking; talking about him. Sam looked up from his feet and saw that a group of people had started to gather around him; men, women, and children of all ages, shapes, and sizes had started to congregate in street before him. Some of them were carrying brown, paper bags that towered with fresh vegetables and fruits; others were holding their child's hand or cradling an infant in their arms. The men started to talk amongst themselves, voices so soft that even Sam had trouble making out their words.

Finally, through the crowd stepped a little girl. Her long, brown hair was fashioned into curls and two white flowers rested just above both of her ears. She had the broadest smile Sam had ever seen on her face and she was missing one of her front teeth, a good sign that she had recently lost one of her 'baby teeth.' Sam smiled behind the visor of his helmet, but realized that no one could see his face, no wonder they seemed nervous by his presence. Sam reached up with both of his hands, unlatched his helmet with a _hiss_ as the tight seal was broken and he brought his helmet to his right side, pinning it against his hip with his right arm. Now everyone's faces changed and just like the child that had stepped through the crowd their smiles broadened and their faces lit up like the stars above.

Now they too could see Sam's bright smile, the wavy brown hair on his head, and his bright green eyes that were just as vibrant as theirs. Seeing that he was now welcome Sam began to make his way towards the crowd, mainly towards the little girl that had broken the awkward moment just moments before. As he approached the child she reached up to her hair and plucked one of the flowers from above her right ear, then with an outstretched hand extended it towards Sam. With a slight chuckle Sam knelt down to as close to the child's height as he could and reached for the flower. Before he could grasp it though his sensitive hearing picked something up and he stopped in mid motion, his eyes darting side by side, looking for something that he could only hear. The child's face too became filled with worry and shortly after so did everyone else's. It was but a moment after the change in tone that an explosion knocked everyone to the ground, including Sam.

"It's here!" Shouted someone in the panic driven crowd, this seemed to only cause more chaos. "Head for shelter!"

Without hesitation people began gathering up their children, tossing their bags to the side, and rushed into all directions, heading towards the closest building. Sam rose to his feet and looked down at the little girl before him; she hadn't moved an inch, her arm still stretched out with the flower in it. A trail of soft tears rolled down her cheeks, but she was trying so hard to force a smile up at Sam. Again, Sam felt the flower in her hand calling out to him in some way and so he reached for it, only to be pulled away again by another earth shaking explosion. Sam looked up from the girl, seeing the outline of something standing in the middle of the street. He wouldn't have taken much notice to it, had it not been for the fact that this outline was drawing everyone's attention. Some people even stopped and stared, their faces frozen with fear. Suddenly, gunfire came from the direction of the outline and Sam could see the muzzle flash in the distance.

He looked down and extended his free arm to grab the child and take her to safety, but she was nowhere to be found. Sam blinked confusingly, shook it off, and slipped his helmet onto his head, gave it a quick twist and created the seal. His HUD instantly came on and he was shocked to see the reading that popped up on the center of his vision.

_A Spartan tag? It's not possible._

Sam didn't recognize the signature, but he didn't have time to investigate this more as the unknown gunman began to open fire directly on the fleeing civilians. Sam reached for his weapon on his back, but only was able to grip air. With his other hand he reached for the pistol on his hip, happy to feel his hand wrap around the grip. He brought the pistol up, dropped the magazine in his free hand and checked the rounds.

_Round._

He cursed his luck as only _one_ round resided in the magazine, the _only_ magazine. Sam slammed the magazine back into the well, pulled the slide to the back and reattached the pistol to the magnetic strip on his hip. This fight was just going to have to be more hands on, something that Sam didn't mind at all. Arching forward and pushing his feet into the concrete Sam gained his traction and dashed towards the shadowy gunman. He weaved side to side, barely avoiding the people that crisscrossed in front of him. Closer he moved to his target, his eyes trained on this, this murderer of innocent people. Soon he could make out more detail about his enemy and the reason behind the Spartan tag became evident. His armor was an exact resemblance to Sam's, with the exception of the pitch black coating that wrapped around it. The gunman stood nearly a foot taller than Sam and his precision with the rifle in his hands was incredible. People fell all around Sam as he raced forward to stop the carnage.

Although Sam towered over everyone around him, the gunman didn't appear interested in firing at him. Instead he wreaked havoc on all those who were too weak to defend themselves. This had to stop, Sam _had_ to stop this! The faster he moved, the closer he got, the more something seemed familiar about this monster. Once he was close enough, Sam lunged forward, bringing his right fist back, and then tossing it forward with all of his weight and momentum behind it. It struck dead center on the side of the helmet of the gunman, sending him stumbling backwards and the shattered helmet tossed through the air in pieces. By the time Sam gained his footing back, not even a moment later; his opponent had already recovered and was upon him, striking Sam across the helmet with the exact same amount of force.

Sam had better footing, though and was kept from stumbling backwards. His helmet however suffered the Sam fate as his opponents and was ripped completely off of his head. Already Sam could feel his left cheek swelling up from the impact and it wouldn't be long till his left eye followed it, leaving him at a disadvantage in sight. Now that they both had been unmasked and their faces clearly seen in the daylight, Sam caught the first glimpse of who he was fighting and the sight shattered his world.

It was _him_.

The sandy brown hair that hung down to the shoulders, the bright green eyes that were piercing back into his. But there were differences between Sam's face and this mysterious reflection that he saw before him. Scars decorated the man's face, his eyes were slightly sunken and dark—filled with hate—and more noticeably he was considerably older than Sam, yet still unmistakably Sam himself. Before the shock had completely washed over Sam, he was struck again across the chin, fracturing his jaw on impact and dropping him to the ground in a heap. There he lay, motionless on his back, staring up at the blazing sun above. It didn't feel as warm on his face as it had earlier as a cold chill swept across the area. The sun was suddenly blocked out by the outline of the much older, hateful looking Sam. He brought his foot up, then down hard on Sam's stomach, cracking the nearly impenetrable MJOLNIR armor. Three more blows like that had completely demolished the armor, exposing a thin layer of gel and Sam's bare stomach, which now bleed from the fragmented plating. As the foot was preparing to come down again a high pitched plea came from nowhere.

"STOP!" Came the voice, childish in tone.

Sam eased his head to the right, blinking furiously to get his eyes adjusted to the light and was surprised at what he saw. The girl from earlier was standing there, tears in her eyes and her face red with sadness. She still held the flower in her hand, gripping it so tightly that the stem was beginning to bend and it wouldn't be long before it snapped. For the first time Sam noticed her yellow dress, now blackened from smoke and stained with blood that now covered the street. Sam wanted to yell out to her, tell her to run—run for her life—but he couldn't, he couldn't speak, he could only watch. Watch as the gunman, an incarnate of him, turned towards the girl and removed his pistol from his hip, pointing in squarely at the girl. She didn't turn away or even flinch at the sight of the gun; she just calmly turned towards Sam and again reached for him, offering him the flower. Sam weakly reached for it, but at the sound of the safety being flicked off on the pistol he stopped and felt a single tear start to form in his eye. The girl looked away from him and down the barrel of the pistol; the gunman looked back at Sam with those eyes, _Sam's eyes_, and smirked.

"No," Sam managed to whisper before he heard the sound of the hammer falling.

**

* * *

2323 Hours August 28, 2528 (Military Calendar) /  
Personnel Cryo-chambers, Bay C, UNSC cruiser **_**Hope,**_**  
En route to Insurrectionist shipyard, **_**Ageless Creations**_

That was the third time Sam had had that dream, each time it ended the same way, each time Sam couldn't save the girl. It meant something, but Sam couldn't put his finger on it, he probably would never be able too. Regardless, it bothered him, but he wasn't about to mention it to anyone. No one wanted to hear about a Spartan who was having _nightmares, _that was just an escapade that he didn't want to be a part of. Suddenly, he felt his body jerk and there was a low humming in his head, followed shortly after by a simple shock to his nervous system.

Sam's eyes flew open at the sound of the cryo-chamber's door opening around him. He blinked several times from the bright lights that lined the bay; it was never getting used to medical lighting. Instantly upon waking he felt his tense muscles and he winced slightly at the ache that accompanied them. As he pushed himself off of the gel padding and placed his left bare foot on the floor, he gagged, regurgitating the fluid in his throat, then swallowed it whole. The taste had definitely improved since the last time he was in cryo-sleep, now it was only a hint of vomit mixed with mint; delicious. His body shivered as he exited the chamber fully, he always felt colder outside of the chamber than in. There he stood, looking around the bay at the rest of the cryo-chambers, each one occupied by a crewman or crew woman of the _Hope_. Sam, finally remembering that he was fully nude, looked around for some form of covering. He found it in a white towel adjacent to his chamber, wrapped it around his waist and headed off towards the latrines.

Surprisingly he hadn't been met with a volley of medical personnel, which usually was the case when he woke up from these long slumbers. For the first time he was only to do what he wanted, to relax before getting bombarded with questions about how he felt. He entered the latrine, removed the towel and headed straight for the showers. Nothing soothed aching, cryo-sleep muscles like a lukewarm shower, well, he really didn't have anything to compare it to, but he was certain it was the best method. After completing his shower he made his way towards the sinks and mirrors, standing in front of one and examining the partial beard that had grown on his face.

_How long have we been out?_

He reached forward, unlatched the mirror from its lock and swung it open. Before going into cryo-sleep is was procedure to stock the latrines with hygienic supplies. It was more of a courtesy to the crew, rather than a procedure really. No one wanted to wake up and have to scurry around the ship searching for something to wash the taste of that _fluid_ out of their mouths. Sam grabbed a razor and some lather, soaked his beard and shaved it off neatly. His hair on the other hand, now hanging over his ears, was going to have to wait for the time being. Sam was skilled with a knife, except for when it came to his own head that was something he left to the professionals. After cleaning himself up and washing that taste out of his mouth, same discarded his equipment, restocked the shelf behind the mirror, and closed the mirror.

It was then that he heard the buzzing noise coming from the cyro-chamber, signaling to medical personnel that in fifteen minutes everyone else would be coming out of their slumber. Sam made his way back to the bay; towel wrapped around his waist, and wasn't surprised to see the group of medical personnel surrounding his open chamber, gawking in awe at where he could be. Sam cleared his throat, got their attention and was, as expected, bombarded with medical questions.

"Your neural readings were off the chart, Petty Officer, is everything alright?" One of the technicians asked.

"I'm fine," Sam replied, leaving the answer at that.

The technician wasn't at all convinced by this answer, but regardless he still added it into his report. Thirty or so questions later the crowd dispersed at the five minute buzzer in the bay. They moved about the other chambers, checking vitals and neural read outs. Sam took this opportunity to slip out unnoticed, making his way towards the ONI laboratory that was nestled snug in the middle of the ship. Still, only wrapped in his towel, he made his way through the many corridors, catching odd stares and glances from personnel that had either just awoken or had been awake the entire time. The doors to the laboratory opened up before him and he stepped through, catching the attention of the technicians inside.

"Modest as always I see," one of them commented.

"I do my best," Sam returned as he walked straight for his MJOLNIR armor which hung stiffly in a protective chamber. "How bad was the damage?"

"Compared to when you first arrived on the _Hope_ it was a scratch, a big scratch. I'm surprised you were able to maintain a seal while you tumbled through space at that velocity. Most people would've blacked out after only a few seconds of that. Regardless, the MJOLNIR is fit for duty and we're ready to slip you back into your second skin."

Sam didn't say a word, just pressed the button on the chamber which caused it to open. He removed the towel from his waist, tossing it onto a nearby table, and then went through the ten minute process of getting back into his armor. Once inside he checked all of the systems, brought up his HUD and ensured that there were no leaks in the suit of any kind. The complete system check took an additional three minutes, but it was well worth to make sure he was at full fighting strength. Sam gave a nod to the laboratory technicians, then parted ways and went straight for the bridge. Usually within the hour of him waking up Captain Hawke was requesting him, this time he figured he'd save him the trouble. As expected about halfway to the bridge the ships intercom systems came to life, requesting that _Sierra-034_, proceeded to the bridge. Sam doubled his walking speed, entered the elevator the bridge and took it to the top. The doors opened with a _swish_ and Sam stepped forward, immediately met with the eyes of the bridge crew. Sam could tell by the looks on their faces that something had happened while he was asleep, something that the crew lost a lot of sleep over.

"Captain Hawke," began Sam as he approached the command chair where Hawke sat, his back facing him, "reporting as ordered, sir."

With a quick snap he came to attention, but managed to keep himself from rendering a salute. Two years on this ship and he was still finding it hard to completely _brain dump_ military customs and courtesies.

"At ease, Sam," Hawke pivoted around in the chair, a cigar hung from his lower lip, "that was faster than normal."

"I got a head start, sir," Sam replied as he spread his feet shoulder width and rested both of his hands in the small of his back, "how long was I out?"

"Four months," the words slapped Sam in the face like a whip.

"Sir? Four months? After _Iris_ we were supposedly en route to the _Crescent Horizon_ recruiting facility, which if I'm not mistaken was far less than four months away," Sam still was finding it hard to believe that he had been out of the fight for that long.

"We ran into a little trouble around _Crescent_," Hawke removed the cigar from his mouth and released a puff of smoke, then replaced the cigar and took a long drag. The end of the cigar lit up bright red as the smoldering end was pulled closer to Hawke's lips. "The Insurrection had abandoned the facility prior to our arrival. At first we didn't know why, but our questions were answered when a Covenant fleet emerged from the other side of the planet. We've been running from them ever since. That was three months ago."

"I'm assuming we lost them?" Sam questioned.

"For the moment, yes, " Hawke stood up and stretched out his lower back, then pulled the cigar from his mouth and flicked some of the ash into a nearby tray. "We made nothing but random jumps through slipspace, but somehow each time they were able to track where we were going. Shit, sometimes they even knew where we were going before we did. Clever bastards. But we lost them somewhere in the _Shaw_ _Asteroid Fields_; left them a thermonuclear present too. Didn't score a direct hit, but we rattled their cages enough to get them off our tail."

Sam nodded in agreement, "Where are we headed now then?"

"_Ageless Creations_; it's a shipyard that Insurrection refit to repair their more.. antique ships. First let me say that our intelligence on the area is quite dated, probably back as far as some of the ships they're trying to repair, but it's better than nothing. We don't believe they have any forms of detection, mainly because the facility is so outdated they never saw the need to pay to upgrade or repair the existing systems, therefore they've simply been using the cover of an abandoned facility as their primary defense. So, we're going to do a _hop 'n drop_. One of our Pelicans will bring you right up next to her; you'll _hop_ out and _drop_ right on in. Expect light—if any—resistance; it'll be mostly maintainers and a few scattered crewmen. Operation window will be an hour, plenty of time to get in, get out, and blame the Covenant."

Hawke finished off the cigar and placed it in the ash tray, holding in the smoke for a moment longer than normal before exhaling. Sam always noticed that he got some kind of enjoyment out of developing these plans and was even more exhilarated when they came into action. Sam on the other hand didn't share his enthusiasm. He had seen the reports from _Teresa_ and didn't think that it was a coincidence that his dream started right afterward. Four hundred and thirty three people were on board the _Teresa_ and another _eight-three_ _thousand _were on _Orion_ when the medical facilities reactors erupted. All of those lives were on his hands, no one else's. The rest of their missions had been on a much smaller scale, mostly attacking Insurrectionist vessels that they stumbled across in the abyss, and then sent out false distress signals claiming that they were under attack by some type of _alien_ craft. Sam wasn't going to admit it outright, but their plan seemed to be working.

In the six months following the _Teresa_ three major Insurrectionist colonies pushed out their original leaders and welcomed the UNSC in with open arms. It wasn't enough for Hawke, however and if anything it made him pick up the pace. Eight attacks had been executed by Sam since the _Teresa_ each one ending with more unneeded blood, _human_ blood on the Spartan's conscious. Each operation came with less armed personnel and more unarmed civilians. The mission before Sam had gone into cryo-sleep was aboard the _House of Cards_, a merchant ship that was supposedly smuggling weapons to the Insurrection. Sam didn't find any weapons in the two hours it took him to secure the massive freighter. Instead, he found every cargo hold filled with refugees just trying to escape to the Inner Colonies. Their only crime was that they were on a ship bought with Insurrection funds, manned by a rebel crew, and captained by a man who was only in the fight because the UNSC had disbanded his shipping business. Only the Captain and his bridge crew were armed, but that was enough for one of them to sneak a shot in the small spacing between the MJOLNIR plating, almost rupturing the seal. Sam could still see their faces as he threw himself through a damaged escape hatch and was forced through space by the eruption of the ships reactors. Ninety one people, which was the final death toll; a number skewed completely by the fact that the hundreds of refugees were never added to any list. People that only wanted peace finally were resting with it.

Sam tried to resist asking the question, but he did so anyways, "Am I to assume that there are no targets of military significance within the station?"

Hawke's eyes snapped into a solid glare at Sam. If he was making any attempt at all to show his anger, he was failing, "All of your targets have substantial _military significance_, Petty Officer. You leave the operation planning to my crew and I, you just do your job so we can win this war."

"I don't see how me-" Sam was usually never one to question his orders, but he had to say something or it was going to eat away at him for the rest of his life.

"How you what," Hawke interrupted, "how you killing rebels is helping us win the war with the Covenant?"

"Precisely, I think I could be better use to the war effort if I was on the front; with the rest of the Spartans."

"The front," a sarcastic laugh was the next noise out of Hawke's mouth, "son, there isn't a front. The front is wherever the Covenant is attacking at that time. How long have you been fighting? Two? Three years if you stretch it. I know what you're thinking, we've all been there. You blame yourself for those lives that are on your hand and with every right. After all, you are the one who pulled the trigger. By letting that get to you, Samuel, you are endangering this mission and more importantly the crews of every ship in this fleet."

Sam started to argue his point, but was instantly cut off, "I explained to you when you signed on for this that there would be casualties, _innocent_ casualties. Your war isn't with the Covenant right now; your war, **my war**, is to get humanity on the same page so we don't end up as an endangered species. Now I ask you this: Are you still in my war? The war that is _for the good of humanity_?"

The sudden offensive flurry from Hawke caught Sam completely off guard, but his words still had meaning. As it all processed through his brain he felt the thoughts of his dream coming up to the surface, pushing for Sam to tell him Hawke to _go fuck himself_, respectively. He shook off the feeling and stood as straight as he could before the Captain.

"Aye, sir. Willing and able; I won't let my personal beliefs interfere with our mission, you have my word."

Hawke pulled back and seemed to relax at the sound of those words, "Good, now get yourself down to the armory and start prepping for the assault. We've got eight hours before we are in position to launch the Pelican, I want you ready in five. Are we clear?"

"Aye, sir," Sam sent up a sharp salute, waited for Hawke to return with a half-assed one, then lowered his right arm, pivoted on his heels, and made his way to the elevator, and then down to the armory.

"I don't like that he's already started questioning our motives," the voice came up from the communications table behind Hawke, "if he is already unsure, what makes you think that he will be willing to complete the next phase?"

"You were listening the whole time?" Hawke turned and faced the table, which suddenly lit up and a holographic image of the one called Clyde appeared.

"I happened to stumble into the conversation by accident. Just was checking in on your situation as we haven't gotten a lot of reports from you since your run in with the Covenant near _Crescent Horizon_. Parangosky was starting to ask questions and no one wanted to give her the wrong answer, you understand," Clyde looked away from Hawke, reached out for something then nodded towards someone out of view.

Hawke snorted in discontent at the sound of _Parangosky_, "Tell her that all is well and that the mission is going as planned. I don't think I have to remind you that my last conversation that you _accidently_ stumbled upon doesn't need to reach her ears."

"My lips are sealed Captain, but you still didn't answer my question; what makes you think that he will be willing to complete the next phase?" Clyde's tone had changed, he was agitated; something that wasn't usual for him.

"He's a soldier, Clyde and damn good one. Do you know what makes a soldier even better? Purpose. He will see the purpose in our plans and though he may not like it, he will understand that it is for the greater good and once that happens, he'll complete the mission."

Clyde's face said wonders to Hawke, but it was mostly screaming _bullshit_, "I hope you're right Captain, we have everything riding on this," with that last little jab at Hawke's judgment, Clyde deactivated the signal and the transmission ended.

Hawke unfolded his arms and just shook his head. He didn't need Clyde to tell him what he already knew; Sierra-034 at the moment was their best chance of surviving this war.

**

* * *

Ninth Age of Reclamation  
Minister of Faith's Flagship, **_**Divine Light**_**,**_**  
Shaw Asteroid Fields, Nela**_** System**

Faith sat silently in his hover craft, staring through the view screen with unblinking eyes. All around him the crew of the _Divine Light _was running around, trying to bring the ship back to full strength. It had been sometime since he had his first encounter with the vial humans and already they had left a bitter taste in his mouth. When their fleet suddenly emerged on the other side of a gas giant Faith had called it a blessing from the Gods, but as Faith's task force chased them over and over again, he saw that it was more of a curse. Many times they were able to get ahead of the humans, who were randomly entering slipspace coordinates, but every time they had an opportunity to engage the heretics slipped through their fingers. When they had caught up to them in this very asteroid field the humans fired a weapon which Faith had never seen nor heard of it. It shattered the bulbous asteroids around them and rocked their ship with its concussion wave. Had it only done that Faith would've continued his pursuit, but almost instantly after the explosion a vast majority of his primary systems went offline. Even on the bridge only one light was operational, the one that illuminated Faith's location.

The Huragok were hard at work pulling out electronics and repairing or replacing them. Even the Unggoy were doing their best to be useful by dragging the heavier pieces of equipment away. Faith had maintained his position on the bridge, overseeing the repairs on his ship and receiving updates when he could from the other nine vessels under his command. Every ship had been affected in some way by human weapon but the _Light_, having been at the front of the formation, absorbed the majority of the impact. This was the only reason that they were forced to stop their pursuit and that reason made Faith furious. Originally he thought of sending the greatly less damaged ships in chase, but reason got the best of him and he assumed that the humans were planning some form of tactical ambush. He assumed wrong; it was merely a shot in the dark to save themselves.

"Minister," a voice came from the darkness of the bridge.

Faith rotated his craft to face the voice and watched as a hulking figure emerged from the shadows. It was Hadadon, Chieftain of the Jiralhanae forces on every ship under Faith. He was a massive creature, standing as tall as any Mgalekgolo that Faith had ever seen. Wrapped around his body was a traditional Chieftain armor, black and crimson in color, covering the essential locations that required protection. The armor appeared heavy and most likely was, but judging by the simple size of Hadadon, Faith knew that he probably didn't even notice that it was on. His black fur protruded from the opening between the plates of the armor; however his face was shaven, which was uncommon for Jiralhanae to do. Faith could only guess that this was done because of the position that he now held. Yet, of all of the intriguing features that Hadadon possessed, none was more eye-catching than the colossal hammer which he held in his left hand, resting the staff on the ground and the large head of the hammer stopping at shoulder height. Faith knew that the hammer was a symbol of power among the various Jiralhanae packs and that each pack had a specific name for the hammer. Already Faith had made the mental note not to ask and would simply wait for Hadadon to reveal that information when he saw fit or never at all.

"What is it, Hadadon?" Faith's voice still had the slight tone of irritation. It was expected given their current predicament and the events that lead up to it.

The Chieftain bowed his head towards Faith in respect before continuing, "The Huragok are nearly finished repairing the last of the primary systems aboard the _Light_ and all other vessels are fully functional. What orders should I extend to the rest of the task force upon their completion?"

"Tell them to make ready for slipspace," Faith turned the hover craft back to its original position, "we are leaving this retched place and we are going to find those vial humans that escaped us."

"It will be done, Minister," again Hadadon bowed his head and was absorbed back into the shadows of the bridge.

Faith clasped his hands before him. He would have his revenge against humanity, whether it be the ones who made him look incompetent or the rest of humanity as a whole. There was too much riding on this, too much _power_ at stake. From here on out he couldn't let those under even have the slightest doubt in their minds that he was capable of leading them. He was now set in his mind as to what he had to do.

_Wipe them out, Faith. Wipe them all out._


	7. Failed Protocol

**2129 Hours April 23, 2530 (Military Calendar) /  
****UNSC frigate **_**Armstrong**_**, Recon Group **_**EE**_**,  
****Sector 34-November, **_**Eridanus System**_

"_Thunder_, this is _Armstrong_. Are you getting any unusual readings on your end? Our scanners are off the chart, but we can't get a visual on anything," Lieutenant Junior Grade Hamilton questioned as she typed in various commands into her console.

"Uh.. that's a negative _Armstrong_. This asteroid field ahead of us is completely messing with our systems. We're going to try and push through, hopefully get a better signal on the other side," the voice on the other end replied.

"We acknowledge, _Thunder_. Standing by in over watch position, _Armstrong _out."

Hamilton spun around in her chair to brief the Commander of the ship, but her hand was already up, waving Hamilton back to her post. Commander Elizabeth Whitmore was a career woman, thirty years in the UNSC Navy, and every single minute had been spent on one ship or another. She had seen it all, well at least she thought that she had until an alien species showed up and started causing trouble. Now here she was, called back into active duty to lead scouting missions in the Outer Colonies until they could find someone with her skill sets to replace her. She was a woman pushing sixty, the stress of her work had left her hair thin and gray, her face filled with lines of worry, but her body was still strong. Before being recalled she had spent five years out of the service, but didn't let herself get complacent for an instant. Whitmore maintained her physical training to the best of her abilities and every once in a while caught up on the latest improvements to Navy vessels. It was all well worth it when they reactivated her, since it didn't take her long at all to get rolling again.

"Lieutenant Escarda, hold at zero-eight-three and provide over watch for the _Thunder_. Hamilton, keep a close on our readings. If there is so much as a fraction of an energy spike, I want to know about it," Whitmore ordered in a calm demeanor, almost as if this was routine for her.

Both personnel replied with a resounding '_Aye, Aye_' and went about their assigned duties. Whitmore watched through the viewing glass was the frigate, _Rolling Thunder_, accelerated in front of them. Both of the ships were assigned to the task force as it was deemed too dangerous for ships to be sent out alone. She didn't know much about the crew of the _Thunder_ only that they were under the command of a newly appointed Lieutenant Commander and this was his first assignment as a Commanding Officer; hell, she didn't even know his name.

"Ma'am, we are holding at zero-eight-three. The _Thunder _should be entering the field in fifteen seconds," informed Lieutenant Escarda, her senior helmsmen.

The _Thunder_'s thrusters ignited as it pushed through space, navigating its way through the first wave of asteroids. Asteroid fields were common in the _Eridanus_ _System_ and they had been hampering the Recon Group's sensors since they arrived. Whitmore had lost count how many times they had to force their way through them in order to get a clear signal about what was on the other side. This time it was _Thunder's_ turn to navigate through and by the looks of it their helmsmen was doing a fine job. It had become somewhat of a standing game between both ships. Whoever got through with the least among of dings or scratches was deemed the winner. Personally, Whitmore felt that anyone who got through any of these things at all was a winner. She hated asteroids; mainly because so many dangers could hide in them.

"_Armstrong, _this is _Thunder_," Whitmore recognized the voice as their ship's commander and pressed the COM button on her chair to open her end of the link.

"_Thunder, _this is _Armstrong_ go ahead and sent your message," she replied.

"We are about ready to pass through the first layer and my helmsmen wanted to let you know that so far they are winning this weeks' wager," she could hear the faint laughter in the background and then looked towards Escarda as he rolled his eyes and mumbled some profanity under his breath.

"Say again, _Thunder_? We couldn't hear you through all of the bullshit," her crew gave a loud cheer and she looked back to Escarda, who gave her a smile and a nod. As she looked around her bridge, bowing her head to the cheers and applause she noticed that Hamilton's eyes were glued to her screen.

"Hamilton, what is it?" Whitmore asked while she stood up and approached the officer. She rested one hand on her shoulder and leaned forward, peering at the screen herself.

"Massive energy spike on the far side of the field," she said with a shake in her voice. "Ma'am, it's so big that even the asteroid field can't mask it."

Whitmore narrowed her eyes to get a better look at the readings, following all the numbers on the screen from top to bottom. Something caught her attention in the middle and her eyes suddenly widened. She drew back from the officer and rushed towards her command chair, shouting orders as she ran.

"Get the MAC Gun online and arm all Archer pods," she shouted as she hopped into her seat, pressing the COM button once again. "_Thunder, _get the hell out of there! You have a slipspace rupture on the far side!"

"We see it, _Armstrong_ and we are already on our way out. Watch our six," was the reply she got and the carefree tone in his voice made Whitmore furious deep down.

Through the view screen she could see the frigate turning starboard, changing its course right in front of an extremely large asteroid, one that was nearly four times the size of both the _Thunder_ and _Armstrong_ combined. It was then that she saw it, but at first she didn't believe her own eyes and shook her head, trying to clear her vision. No matter how hard she tried though the site of something lurching behind that massive asteroid was still there, getting ever so closer; ever so larger.

"_Thunder_, move your ass! You have an enemy vessel on your six, right behind that asteroid!" Whitmore screamed into her COM at the top of her voice.

"MAC Gun at _eighty-three percent_, all Archer pods are hot, standing by for firing sequence," her weapons crewman shouted over the sound of the ship's engines charging up.

"Maneuver us into position to get a shot at that ship coming in behind that asteroid, we have to stall them long enough for the _Thunder_ to exit the field," Whitmore ordered as she held on tightly to the arms of her chair, instantly feeling the ship's trajectory change and move towards its port side.

As they moved into a better position, the ship could be seen even more clearly and now a line of other ships were starting to appear behind it, Whitmore counted fifteen before her attention was drawn elsewhere. The ship behind the asteroid, now seen in all of its might, started to glow at the bow in a bright, red color. Whitmore just stared on in awe, as did the rest of her crew as the light grew brighter and brighter, almost as if it was a sun itself.

"We are clear of the asteroid field and turning to engage," the voice came across the COM, but no one answered, only watched and waited.

Out of the corner of her eye, Whitmore could make out the sight of the _Thunder_ turning to face the threat; it was now obvious that they had not yet seen it for what it really was. The ship dwarfed the asteroid, its width easily twice that of it and its length was unimaginably long, Whitmore had never seen anything that size in all of her years. The _Thunder_ was only halfway through its turn when the ship opened fire, releasing a burning ball of plasma directly _into _the asteroid. Molten rock erupted outwards, spreading everywhere in a majestic, yet terrifying, display. Pieces struck the ship, but were reflected away by a shimmering, silver shielding system. The projectile continued onwards, evaporating smaller pieces of rock that got in its path; the path towards the _Thunder_. No one could speak, not even a veteran like Whitmore as they watched the streak of red fire shoot through the darkness of space. The silence was broken by the last message the crew of the _Thunder_ would ever make.

"Holy shi-"

As if it was a scalpel cutting through flesh, the plasma round engulfed the stern of the ship, midway to engines, melting it away as if the titanium armor was wax. Whitmore's eyes grew wide as she watched secondary explosions erupt all along the exterior of what remained of the _Thunder_.

"Ma'am," the words passed through her ears unnoticed, "Ma'am!"

She was snapped back into reality by Escarda's voice and instantly gave her orders, "Fire all Archer pods, then hit that son-of-a-bitch with our MAC!"

Several numbers flashed on the weapons specialists screen, the firing sequence had been achieved and suddenly a volley of hundreds of Archer missiles erupted from the sides of the ship. Their propulsion engines glared back at the _Armstrong_ as they shot through space. A handful of them came in contact with straying asteroids, but the vast majority of them were superbly aimed and struck directly on the starboard bow of the Covenant ship. Immediately following the volley the _Armstrong_ was hit with a massive concussion as the MAC Gun fired the 600 ton shell at nearly half the speed of light towards the Covenant ship. A massive explosion sent a kinetic shockwave outwards, shattering nearby asteroids and engulfing the area in a white light.

"I am confirming a direct hit," the specialist announced with a hint of ego.

Whitmore didn't respond, she just stared on, waiting to see what damage she had inflicted. As the smoke, debris, and light dispersed she was left completely speechless. The massive ships' shields were still shimmering silver in the small portion of the ship where her impressive onslaught had struck; there wasn't even a dent anywhere on its hull.

"Preparing to fire MAC Gun, rearming Archer pods," the specialist immediately responded, certain in himself that his weapons would destroy the enormous vessel.

"Belay that! Make ready for slipspace jump," Whitmore ordered and Escarda obliged, turning the ship starboard and punching in numerous commands on his terminal.

"Navigation, make haste for the nearest human outpost, random vectors," with that she did all that she could do and sat back.

For the first time in her Naval career she felt utterly helpless as the _Armstrong_ shot passed the wreckage of the _Rolling Thunder_. In the distance she could see the massive Covenant ship pushing through the asteroid field, the shields that protected it easily repelling the huge tons of solid rock. The _Armstrong_ began to pick up speed, engines started to whine and then roar. In less than two minutes her ship would enter slipspace, Whitmore prayed that the Covenant would give her that much time.

* * *

**9****th**** Age of Reclamation  
****Minister of Faith's flagship, **_**Divine Light**_**,  
****Sector 34-November, **_**Eridanus System**_

"Why is that ship escaping," Faith's question echoed throughout the bridge as he floated over to one of the terminals, "I don't remember ordering anyone to let these vial humans leave alive!"

A few grunts and snuffs from the Jiralhanae crew filled the air as they started to turn the massive Assault Cruiser towards the fleeing human ship. Faith watched the main view screen, his hands in front of his face, tapping his fingers together with anxiety. This was the part that he always enjoyed, watching the humans scatter when they were left all alone, only to destroyed. He did his best not to break out in laughter, as maintaining his composure was a sure way to keep the trust of his crew. Suddenly, he felt a heavy weight press down on the back of his craft, causing it lower a few inches and the engines to whine as they exerted more energy to stay afloat. Faith looked to his right and saw the giant hand of Hadadon resting _softly_ on the rear of his craft. Before he could speak, Hadadon leaned forward, his face right next to Faith's, his mouth nearly the size of the San 'Shyuum's head.

"If I may interject, Minister," Hadadon spoke softly as to not draw the attention of the crew, "but I have a suggestion that may suit your wishes to destroy the heathens."

Faith stared at him, doing his best not to show any signs of fear, "Speak, but be quick."

"When hunting a smaller animal, it may sometimes be wise to let it run away," Hadadon could see the confusion on Faith's face, but he continued anyways. "Weaker prey tends to want to find safety in numbers and without knowing so may lead the hunter to the rest of their pack."

That was something that Faith could understand and he didn't waste a moment pondering it, "Stand down, let the humans escape, _but_ follow them, let us see where they lead us."

A few snorts were his acknowledgement and Hadadon nodded in approval, "Wise decision, Minister."

In the distance they watched as the human vessel increased its speed and disappeared in a burst of blue light, ripping a hole through space and time. Faith smiled, laying his arms down at his side as the ship crept through the asteroid field. He would follow these humans to their nest and burn them where they lived.

* * *

**0145 Hours May 8, 2530 (Military Calendar) /  
****Cargo Hold, Merchant freighter **_**Reap What You Sow**_**,  
****High orbit over planet **_**Eridanus II, Eridanus System**_

_Reap What You Sow_ was a merchant ship, owned by a Mr. Kenneth Garza and currently on loan to the United Nations Space Command, against his will of course. Several crewmen from the frigate _Oklahoma _had came aboard the _Sow_ and already made it almost like home. _Oklahoma's_ crew had commandeered the ship a few days ago while it was en route to _Eridanus II_ and, despite Mr. Garza's stiff resistance, had transferred all of the ships' cargo throughout Hawke's fleet to be stored until this mission had been completed. Shortly after their arrival Samuel joined them in the cargo hold as they prepared for another insertion into an Insurrection hotspot. The ship was massive, just like the _House of Cards_ had been, except this time Sam wasn't here to kill anyone; at least not yet. He had been waiting in the hold for a few days while the maintainers and technicians rushed about, piecing together a new type of insertion device. Mostly Sam just stayed out of their way, keeping to himself in the dark corners of the ship, having lost his social tendencies after his last altercation with Captain Hawke.

If the crew could see behind the helmet that he now wore nearly all the time, they would see the dark rings forming under his blood shot eyes. Over nearly the past two years his dream had only gotten excessively worse, now actually causing him to wake up when not in a cryo-chamber. Numerous times during cryo-sleep the shipboard Artificial Intelligence would have to up his dosage in order to keep him unconscious; medical personnel were starting to ask questions, but Sam continued to avoid the answers, even when the questions started coming from Hawke himself. Regardless of this setback, Sam had continued to perform flawlessly in his missions, never once questioning his motives for the _why_ behind each attack. He had lost track of how many attacks he had carried out, but he made sure to keep as accurate as a count as he could about the number of _lives_ lost with each one. Try as they could, personnel on board could not keep the reports out of Samuel's hands and after each attack he added more numbers to his list.

_One hundred, seventy four thousand, six hundred and fifteen_ was the number that flashed in the lower left corner of his HUD. That was a lot of blood, even for a Spartan and he was never going to admit how much those lives were getting to him. All of those people could have been used in the war effort against the Covenant, one of them may have held the key to destroying them, but now no one would ever know. Their deaths, however horrible, were actually stirring the fires of morale throughout the UNSC war machine. Hawke had sent messages to Samuel—now that they had gone out of their way to avoid each other—showing the headlines detailing the _Covenant_ attacks. People were furious, as they should be, and recruitment rates were starting to skyrocket. People from every type of colony, Inner and Outer, were heading for Reach to join the ranks of the UNSC. Sam was doing some good, but it still wasn't enough to outweigh all of the wrong that he had done.

"Sierra-zero-three-four," a young Ensign's voice broke Sam's daydreaming.

Sam blinked his eyes, coming to, and then looked up from his seated position at the female officer dressed in her service uniform. He didn't stand, didn't render any form of courtesy to her; just acknowledged her presence.

She cleared her throat, not quite sure at first how to act, but finally spoke anyways, "We are ready for you."

With not even the slightest form of response, Sam rose to his feet and walked passed her, leaving her where she stood in a slight state of disbelief. Had he been anyone else she would have snapped him to attention and chewed him a new ass, but everyone in the fleet knew what happened to the last person who tried to pull rank on Sam. It was five months ago after he had just destroyed an entire asteroid mining colony, killing the miners and their families while they slept. Needless to say, Sam wasn't in a talking mood when he returned to the _Hope_, but one of Hawke's officers wanted an after action report from him. He pushed and pushed, until Sam pushed back, giving him more _after action_ than he requested. It was still unsure if the man was ever going to pull out of the coma that he was in.

"Right this way, Samuel," one of the technicians waved him over to an airlock on the port side of the cargo hold.

Lackadaisically Sam approached the man, who was standing over four seemingly large pieces of equipment. Even though he couldn't see behind the tinted visor, the technicians knew that Sam's had a lot of questions in his eyes, so he jumped right to it.

"Here," he said, pointing to each piece of equipment, "we have a modified version of a High Orbit Vehicle Insertion Pack. I'm sure you've never seen even an original model of these, as they haven't been put into action on very many fronts. They were designed to be attached to the four outermost corners of any of our vehicles and then dropped in conjunction with our ODST. I'm not going to bore you with the technical aspects of it; however, the mechanics are quite simple, much like the HEVs, except for there's no pod, just you and these here propulsion devices."

Sam knelt down, reached out, and gripped one of the thruster packs in his hand. His first attempt to pick it up had failed, due to the surprise weight of the item, his second attempt though also failed and he was forced to use both hands to bring it up to get a closer look.

"Ah, I forgot to mention that each piece is _exceptionally_ heavy. About four hundred pounds apiece, but once we get them attached to your armor you should barely feel it," he smirked and walked over to a rotating holographic image on one of the nearby consoles.

"We will be placing one on your calves," using his right index finger he pointed at the image, "and on your forearms. The thrusters, when activated, will extend down past your feet and hands, so you won't have to worry about direct heat from them. That said, you still won't be able to take your time and go sightseeing as each one of these thrusters only contains enough energy for one minute of continuous use."

Sam watched as the hologram began showing a simulation of the device working, followed by a gage on the side that indicted how much power it was using. He lowered the thruster back to the ground and rose back to his feet.

"I know I'm going to regret asking this," Sam folded his arms in front of his chest, "but why haven't they been used more frequently?"

"You're right; you are going to regret that. Without some sort of directional programming or operator control, the devices had a tendency to move in any direction they felt like. One would want to go this way, the others that way, which resulted in a lot of vehicles crash landing or in some rare cases when thrusters on opposite sides separated; ripped in half."

"Fantastic," Sam rolled his eyes and reached up, placing his hand over his visor. "Alright, I'm on board as always. Let's get these damn things on me and get me down there. I don't want to-"

Sam paused for a second, remembering a very important detail, "Why exactly are we here? _Eridanus II _is under UNSC control."

"I can answer that," the female Ensign from early stepped up next to Sam. Her hair was short, now that Sam was actually paying attention to her, and braided along the sides. It was dark brown, much like her skin, and her green eyes stared right up into where she presumed Sam's eyes were.

"Insurrectionist activity has started to grow in this sector, even since the last time your team was here," Sam's sudden change in body language suggested to her that he had forgotten about that incident, "we need you to put an end to the uprising before it even has a chance to start. Then, once you finish with the known Insurrectionist district and as you are moving to attack the rest of the populous, this fleet will jump into orbit. You will barely escape capture and jump out of system, at which point UNSC forces will take credit for the defense of _Eridanus II_."

She smiled an egotistical smile as she finished the planned briefing, Sam could tell by her body language that she was the one who had thought up the majority of the scheme. He didn't like it, not at all. Killing Insurrectionist was giving him nightmares, but if he killed civilians who were already on board with Hawke's plans, well, he might as well die down there with them. Regardless, a mission was a mission and he was going to fulfill it to the best of his ability.

"Let's get you suited up, Spartan," she broke the silence as she motioned for more technicians with lifting equipment to come over.

Over the course of the next two hours the thrusters were attached to Sam's various appendages. New programs were connected to his HUD, allowing him to give them the _engage_ command and the _detach _command, which would cause the thrusters to break away from his armor. The HUD now also displayed the energy readings of the individual thrusters, which were currently maxed out at one hundred percent. Like the technician had said, Sam could barely notice the thrusters once they were attached to his armor, even though he felt gravity tugging heavily on his arms. His legs were fine, only noticing that the thrusters were even there when we went to take a step or any other motion with his legs. All in all, it wasn't a bad set up—weight wise—but the real test would come when Sam departed the ship and dropped down to the planet with the thrusters pushing him upwards of seven hundred miles per hour, using equipment that he had little knowledge of and had a tendency to malfunction; what could go wrong?

"_OPERATION: VELOCITY _has been activated," boomed a voice over the ships intercoms. "All personnel participating proceed to Airlock Bravo-Seven-Zulu. I say again, _OPERATION_.."

The voice came across Sam's deaf ears as he trudged his way towards the Airlock, technicians running around him, reading scanners and pulling wires from the thrusters as he walked. Sam didn't pay them any notice, his mind was already lost in the logistics of the upcoming mission, his eyes taking in all the information that flashed across his HUD.

"Step over here, Spartan," the Ensign from earlier _ordered_ as she pointed to a platform on the floor.

Sam obliged, stepping onto the platform and allowed the technicians to finish their work uninterrupted. They finished their tests, checked the energy levels of the thrusters for the tenth time, and then backed away. The Ensign stood next to Sam on the same platform, slipping into a simple airtight suit and pulled an oxygen helmet over her head. There was a loud hiss as the helmet created a seal and she turned towards Sam, giving him a nod, then the technicians behind him one. With a sudden jerk the platform below them started moving forward towards the Airlock, which now opened; allowing the platform to enter. The door closed behind the two and they stood silent in the small, dark room, the only sound being made was their breathing.

"Brace for deceleration," the voice over the intercom stated. "We will be going below _Eridanus II's_ atmosphere in 5.. 4.. 3.. 2.."

A jolt rattled the ship, causing the Ensign to slam against Sam, who now weighed down by an additional twelve hundred pounds didn't even budge. She quickly recovered, pulled a strap from her left side and bent down, connecting it to a 'D' ring on the floor; she repeated this with her right side and then stood up straight. Moments after she was secured to the platform the room lit up with revolving, yellow lights which was followed by the door in front of them opening up. What air that was in the chamber was sucked out by and the Ensign was also snapped forward, being held in place only by the straps. Sam remained still, and then approached the edge of the platform and looked down, seeing a blanket of clouds below him, he placed his left hand up against the frame of the entrance taking in the tranquil sight. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the Ensign step up next to him, grasping tightly onto the railing on her right side.

"Why did you come out here, ma'am?" Sam questioned through their COMs, rendering her proper respect for the first time since they'd met.

"I wanted to see you off, Petty Officer," they both turned to look at each other in unison, "and to ask you a question."

"Well, ask away."

"Do you ever regret what you've done? What _we've_ made you do?" Sam could see the look in her eyes behind her visor; they were sad; scared of what answer he would give.

Sam looked away from her, staring back at the sight below, "I don't believe in regrets, ma'am."

She nodded and was about to speak when Sam continued, "But I do wish someone would've stopped me a long time ago. Until that day, though, I will continue to do what is asked of me; no more, no less."

Before she could get another word out Sam leapt from the platform, straightened his body out, then shot downwards at a tremendous speed. He blazed through the sky for only a few seconds before activating the thrusters. They turned on instantly and violently, shooting Sam towards the surface at remarkable speeds. Every muscle in his body strained, trying to keep the force under control. He could feel the heat pushing off of the thrusters against his body, it was intense, but his suit would manage. As he shot through a layer of clouds he noticed the ground getting closer and closer, rapidly. He grunted as he tilted his arms backwards ever so slightly, causing his body to slowly start to rotate vertically. A reading on his HUD popped up, showing that he had ten thousand feet to go. Now he could start to make out the outlines of small buildings scattered throughout the landscape.

When the reading hit five thousand feet Sam disengaged the thrusters, turned his body into a full, straight up, standing position then reengaged the thrusters. They whined and hissed to life as they forced to slow down Sam's descent and go against the momentum that he had already created. Two thousand feet to go and Sam's body ached, he was still travelling close to two hundred miles per hour and only had didn't have much time to slow his speed down. In a last chance effort he overheated the thrusters, using up their remaining twenty seconds in three. They burnt white hot and he could hear the sizzling sound against his armor, even through the rush of the air around him. His speed though dropped to below one hundred, with less than one thousand feet to go. Each thruster broke away from his body with the detach command and Sam leaned forward, spreading his arms and legs out wide to slow his speed even more. The ground was so close now, he wasn't going to have much time to slow down any more and as his body came in contact with the ground at nearly seventy five miles per hour he bent his knees, absorbing the impact and transferring it throughout his body. The ground around him quaked slightly as his one ton armor collided with it. Several systems in his suit started flashing red, displaying warning signs and error messages. Sam just remained still, frozen in place and wondering if he was even still alive.

He heard the four distinct sounds of the thrusters falling to the ground around him, giving him the sign that his head was alright and slowly he straightened himself out, only feeling aches and pains around his body, nothing severe. He looked around, seeing that he had landed in an open field; there was no one in sight. With a sigh, Sam exhaled the air that was in his lungs, and then inhaled the fresh air of _Eridanus II_. After a moment of rest a Navigational Marker appeared on his HUD, directing him towards the location of the Insurrectionist stronghold. It was about forty kilometers away, a decent hike, but nothing that would take him too long. Sam headed north, lightly jogging towards the marker. He wasn't in a hurry; the Insurgents were going to be there either way, regardless of how fast he moved. _Eridanus II _was mostly farmland, its population much smaller than the planets size would make it seem, which meant that Sam didn't have to worry about detection until he made it near one of its smaller cities. Under the cover of the morning darkness, Sam proceeded towards his objective, unaware of the dangers that were making their way through the shifts of time and space.

* * *

**1545 Hours May 8, 2530 (Military Calendar) /  
****Merchant freighter **_**Reap What You Sow**_**,  
****Orbiting planet **_**Eridanus II, Eridanus System**_

It was quiet on the bridge of the _Sow_, despite all of the running about that the newly formed crew was doing. Mr. Garza, the true _Captain_ sat quietly at the helm, navigating the _Sow _around to the far side of the planet. Though the ship had a massive cargo hold, its bridge was relatively small—in comparison to most UNSC warships—and only one other individual could comfortable fit in the room with Garza. Both were sitting side by side, silent as the space around them; one navigating the ship, the other reading a report on a holographic notepad. As the ship seamlessly eased around the crest of the planet a bright, blue light flashed before them. Garza gave it a quick glance, but didn't pay any heed to it; his companion, the Ensign that had spoken to Samuel, didn't even look up from her work. Moments after a ship fully emerged from the rupture static filled the COM channels. Several loud whines and whistles followed closely afterwards as the signal started to correct itself, till finally a female voice came across the net.

"This is Commander Elizabeth Whitmore of the UNSC _Armstrong_ to all UNSC personnel and civilians in the area—," static cut off the last portion of her message, which now had the Ensign's full attention. "There is a large Covenant force in this system. I say again, there is a large Covenant force in this system, being preparations for immediate evacuation."

Garza looked over at his counterpart who was already typing in commands to bring Captain Hawke on the net, she had to inform him that this wasn't her message for him to send in the Calvary and scare Samuel out of _Eridanus_, but she was too late.

"This is Captain Hawke of the UNSC _Hope_, we read you loud and clear Commander. Rendezvous with us at bearing niner-eight-three and come into formation with my battle group," the Ensigns eyes grew wide; _that was their rendezvous point_. "All personnel are advised that evacuation is not necessary, we have the situation under control."

* * *

Onboard the _Armstrong_, Whitmore's eyes grew wide with both surprise and anger at the last transmission. There were Covenant forces in the system and this unknown Captain was declaring that they had the situation under control? With the Covenant the situation was never just under control. She slammed her closed fist down on the side of her chair, cursing the name of the man she had never met. She shot a glare at Escarda, who returned it with a nod.

"Heading for niner-eight-three, ma'am," he stated as he typed in commands on his console with one hand, while slowly maneuvering with the other.

"Hamilton, set up a secure channel with the _Hope_, I want to have a word with this Captain Hawke and explain the gravity of the situation," Whitmore ordered to her COM officer.

"Aye, ma'am."

No sooner had Whitmore given the order when less than ten kilometers in front of them there was flash a blinding light. The windows of the _Armstrong_ quickly polarized, barely able to keep the light at bay. As soon as the light faded, as well as the polarized windows, it became clear that the _Armstrong_ had been followed by the Covenant. Whitmore was silent as the massive ship from before shot through the slipspace rupture, heading straight for _them_. The size of the ship was now completely understood by Whitmore, as its bow completely engulfed the small frigate. All she could do was watch as the ship shot towards them, until someone shouted out.

"Brace for impact!" It was the last thing Whitmore or anyone on the crew would hear as the massive assault carrier slammed into the _Armstrong_, causing it to erupt in a violent ball of flames and shrapnel, all of which bounced harmlessly off of the seemingly impenetrable shields.

* * *

Garza and the unnamed Ensign looked on in horror as the frigate was rammed into by the enormous ship and then completely obliterated. The Ensign remained silent, awestruck by the events that played before them, but Garza was already at work changing their course to head away from the vessel. As they began to veer away from the Covenant ship, several more slipspace ruptures occurred, each one producing more threats to the UNSC forces. The _Sow_ turned slowly, heading away from the planet and out towards the darkness of space; Garza preparing the ship for slipspace. Once they were fully turned, right before them, came another rupture and a Covenant ship emerged through, its plasma weapons already glowing beneath the bow.

"They're sealing off the planet," the Ensign stated, finally coming out of her shock, "they're not going to let any of us leave."

A bolt of burning, red plasma streaked through the sky towards the _Sow_ and Garza just watched, not even making an attempt to evade. Tears started to fall down the Ensign's cheeks and she placed her face into her hands, not wanting to see her own death. Garza just watched on, feeling the heat on his face as the plasma drew closer, knowing that it would all be over soon.

* * *

_Hope_ emerged from slipspace, several kilometers from _Eridanus II_, but not far enough way to see the explosion in the distance as the _Sow _was cut bow to stern by a Covenant plasma torpedo. Hawke looked on in shock at the number of Covenant ships that had emerged from slipspace and were still emerging. Each vessel emerged on the holographic table before him, giving readings of their size and velocity. The majority of the ships were around five hundred meters in length, a few of them the size of the _Hope_—roughly one thousand meters—but the massive ship in the center of the fleet was pushing six thousand meters, the largest ship Hawke had ever seen. Thirty-three ships in all consisted of the Covenant fleet, as opposed to Hawke's nine ships. He was outmanned, outgunned, and all out of options, other than to fight. Several Covenant battleships had taken up perimeter positions around the planet; whoever was leading them had taken extra measures to ensure that no one was running from this fight once they entered the arena.

"All ships separate in twos and engage the closest Covenant ships. Concentrate on the ships guarding the perimeter; avoid the bulk of their forces at all costs," Hawke barked his orders as red lights started flashing on the bridge.

He watched on his view screen as the eight ships in his battle group broke into four groups of two, and then accelerated towards the nearest Covenant ships. Hidden on the other side of the crest of the planet was the rest of the Covenant fleet, some twenty-eight ships were moving into formation to descend upon _Eridanus II_. The massive ship was in the lead, already pushing into the planet's atmosphere and Hawke guessed that they would be deploying their ground troops shortly.

"Launch all Longsword fighters," Hawke barked. "Tell them to head for the planet's surface and clear an escape route for Sierra-zero-three-four."

Several acknowledgements came from his crew and in a few minutes he watched as hundreds of Longsword fighters shot towards the planet as every ship in the group released their entire bays.

"Get Samuel on the line, the battle for _Eridanus II_ has begun," he folded his arms in front of his chest, then whispered under his breath, "and I don't want him to take part in any of it."


	8. Sacrifice

**0923 Hours May 8, 2530 (Military Calendar) /  
Saint Meyer, Cornith Province  
**_**Eridanus II, Eridanus System**_

Sam swept through the building methodically, as he had done so many times before. His movements were swift and precise, almost as if he had been within the confines of the facility several times before. It was a makeshift weapons cache, stored very securely within a supermarket in the downtown region of Saint Meyer. He had used the cover of the darkness to his advantage and made his way inside, holding up tightly until the first group of insurgents arrived for their morning rounds. Sam dispatched of them silently and efficiently, concealing their bodies within a nearby dumpster before making his way into the lower levels of the supermarket. Sam's MA5K assault rifle rested snuggly within the crease of his shoulder, giving him excellent stability as he moved room to room. The area was surprisingly vacant, especially for intelligence which suggested this was a stronghold. In the fifteen minutes Sam had been clearing the facility, he had only ran into maintenance personnel and one sleeping guard. _Something wasn't right._

It was then that the facility began to shake as if an earthquake had suddenly erupted in the center of the city. The initial shockwave threw Sam against a nearby concrete wall, causing it to fracture and crack around his impact location. Sam braced himself against the wall, back pressed up tightly against it, and legs shoulder width and bent to increase his stability. As the initial shock faded, it was immediately replaced by yet another. _Something was definitely not right._

Sam turned on his heels and made a mad dash towards the entrance of the facility, stepping over the bodies of the slain insurgents from earlier. As he stepped out into the supermarket his eyes fell upon a menacing, but familiar sight. Slowly he approached the front entrance of the supermarket, peering out through the wall of glass which looked out across the street in front of him. People were running in fear and panic, women holding their children tightly to their bodies, pressing their sobbing faces into their bosoms. Sam barely had time to soak it all in when a streak of green plasma struck the center of the street. An explosion of rock, glass, and heat splashed against Sam's face shield. He didn't budge; only stared out at the effects of such a blast. Burnt, dismembered bodies littered the once packed street and in the middle of them all was a smoldering, glowing, green crater.

"Hope!" Sam blared over the COM, "we have Covenant forces on Eridanus! I say again, we have Covenant—"

"I know," Hawke's voice was cold, "you are to rendezvous at the emergency EVAC location. Do not engage the Covenant."

Sam cocked his eyebrow in confusion. _Do not?_ "Sir, repeat last. Did you say 'do not' engage the Covenant?"

"You. Will. Not. Engage the Covenant. Is that more precise, soldier? Engage Insurrectionist forces in your way, but that is all. You have less than an hour to reach the EVAC or we are leaving you behind. I suggest you move. Hawke out."

Sam clenched his hands tightly, almost crushing the pistol grip of his MA5K. Hawke had completely lost his mind with this order. The whole mission for the last five years has been to make people think the Covenant had been attacking Insurrectionist planets. Now that they actually were and Samuel had an opportunity to save some of his soul Hawke ties his hands behind his back. It would be easy to disobey this order, but Sam was a loyal solider. He knew his duties and had to trust Hawke had a bigger plan in mind. With his mind now set on following this order, Sam stepped out onto the street. He looked up, watching as small Covenant aircraft and troop transport ships littered the blue, morning sky. High above them, floating with an eerie glow, were several Covenant battleships. They seemed to peer on at the carnage, as a child would peer on over ants scrambling from a magnifying glass.

Another explosion rocked the block of the city where Sam resided, cueing him that it was time to leave. Sam brought up the NAV marker on his HUD, turned in the direction where he needed and took off, sprinting over the bodies and through the destruction; hell bent on doing nothing to stop it.

* * *

**9****th**** Age of Reclamation  
Minister of Faith's Command and Control Station,  
**_**Eridanus II, Eridanus System**_

It was unexpected to run into a Human planet, let alone an entire fleet, but it was a surprise which the Minister of Faith enjoyed wholeheartedly. Several of his ships were engaging the small, pathetic fleet surrounding the planet, while the remainder dispersed his ground forces to the planet's surface. They initial attack at gone off excellently, killing thousands before they knew what had even hit them. Their panic only made them easier targets as they scrambled for their spaceports. It was like shooting Unngoy as they hurried for food. It didn't matter how many you killed, they still kept coming. A smile crossed Faith's lips as he reviewed the reports being sent before him. The hum of Banshee's flying overhead drew Faith's attention from the screens and to the sky, where his smiled widened as gazed upon his impressive military might.

"Minister," Hadadon's voice boomed through Faith's hovercraft's communications, "there is something I want you to see."

Faith's eyes fell back to the screens where a new image had emerged. It took a moment for Faith to recognize what he was looking at, but when it finally sunk in his full attention was on the lone screen. It was a video from moments earlier of a massive creature, almost the size of a Jiralhanae killed humans without mercy. The creature wore a form of armor Faith had never seen, but it closely resembled the kind sported by Hadadon. It was sleek and black, making it hard to make out even in the daylight of this wretched planet. Whatever this creature was, it was killing the armed humans as they fired at his own forces.

"What is this thing, Hadadon?" Faith questioned as he watched on.

"We don't know, Minister. Reports from our ground forces that have come into contact with it are saying it doesn't engage them. This being said, Minister, it disperses before our forces can engage it either. All we know is it is killing the heretics and killing them without mercy."

"Interesting. Very interesting."

* * *

**0954 Hours May 8, 2530 (Military Calendar) /  
Outskirts of Saint Meyer, Cornith Province  
**_**Eridanus II, Eridanus System**_

The planet was falling apart around Sam as he raced towards his EVAC. Insurrectionist fighters, most of them untrained militia, were trying to defend their homes from the alien invaders. Sam didn't want to fight them, but given his options he wasn't left with a choice. Covenant forces were everywhere, herding the humans into small pockets to make them easier to exterminate. In his attempts to avoid the Covenant, he was forced to kill his own—again. These killings were much worse than the ones which had come before. The **true** **enemy** was staring them in the face and Sam still had to make it seem like he was the real threat. He could've been helping with evacuating innocent people, now he just killed them on his way to his own evacuation.

He had been moving nonstop for the last thirty minutes, making his way the ten kilometers to the EVAC zone. Sam had watched as one of Hawke's destroyers made an attempt to engage one of the Covenant ships in low orbit around the planet. It was struck from above by a massive bolt of plasma, causing it to buckle and twist in fire. The ship was cut in half; both pieces burning brightly as they passed through the atmosphere of the planet. Sam watched on as they crashed, several kilometers apart from each other. He didn't even comprehend there being any survivors, he just watched as soldiers and sailors who had worked with for the last five years were taken in the blink of an eye.

"_Hope_, this is Sierra-034. I'm approaching the EVAC location. ETA to pick up?"

Nothing.

"_Hope, _this is Sierra-034. Do you read me?"

There was nothing but silence across the COMs. Sam glanced around at his surroundings, taking in the area where he was supposed to be evacuated out from. It stood in an open field; mountains to the north, Saint Meyer to the south, and Covenant everywhere else. Returning to Saint Meyer in hopes of reaching its small spaceport was suicide. The mountains would be excellent for escaping, but the Covenant weren't known for searching for survivors. As Sam looked to the mountains as his last options, a faint humming noise came across his COMs. It was barely audible and would've gone unnoticed to anyone with Sam's hearing. It was a distress signal from the _Hope_, used as a warning for Sam to prepare for EVAC. No sooner had the humming started did a lone aircraft rise up over the mountains in the distance and approached Sam's location.

It didn't bear any UNSC markings, nor did match any military vehicles. This was civilian with, more than likely, a civilian pilot scared out of his mind. It took only a few minutes for the craft to reach Sam's position and it lowered itself down slowly, pushing the high grass around Sam to the ground. It resembled a pelican in design, but was tailored more towards transporting supplies than troops. The rear hatched opened, revealing a cargo of steel crates labeled 'Produce.' Sam stepped into the cargo hold, turning his body sideways to walk through the open spaces between the crates. He walked into the cockpit, looked down at the middle aged man who was piloting the vessel, then gave the nod of all clear. The pilot, terrified, returned the nod and closed the cargo does while raising the vessels into the sky. Sam gave the man another glance, taking in his appearance more fully now. His clothing was torn and stained by smoke. His white face was covered by a mixture of blood and ash, a sign he had come from a location which was under attack today.

"_Hope_, Sierra-034 is onboard EVAC and returning to yours," Sam spoke into the COM softly while peering through the cockpit windows as the ship started towards space.

"We are swinging around now to pick you up. This is going to be the fastest we've ever done this, so be ready for a hard landing," Hawke's voice was still calm for someone who was obviously losing the battle in space.

The ship jolted as gravity pressed down against it, but slowly it pushed up through the atmosphere and into, what should've been, the darkness of space. This was not so. Streaks of blue and red plasma lit up the desolate space, smoke trails from Archer missiles streaked across the void and the shimmer of the Covenant shields and fire of the UNSC's ships made it look like daytime. From the view screen Sam could see only a handful of Hawke's fleet remained. They had reformed into a firing line; four ships surrounded the _Hope_, acting as a blocking force against incoming attacks. Sam watched on as a Covenant battleship fired upon one of the escort ships, causing it to turn forcibly to its port and rotate uncontrollably, almost striking the ship it was supposed to protect.

He could hear his pilot start to hyperventilate and softly reached over, placing his massive hand on his shoulder. The pilot seemed to relax, most likely out of fear of being crushed for messing up. As they approached the _Hope_, her damage became more evident. Sections of several decks were completely gone and fires were erupting throughout her hull. Sam could vaguely see the floating bodies of crewmembers that had been pulled through opens within the ship before the areas could be sealed off. The pilot caught up to the moving cruiser and docked much faster than Sam had ever seen done. The vessel screeched across the bay, striking against a Longsword fighter before coming to a halt. With a loud sigh of relief, the pilot turned to look at Sam, but he was already on his way out onto the bay.

Sam was met by a Marine Sergeant who directed him to the bridge for immediate debrief. A quick glance by Sam revealed the Sergeant had his pistol holster unlatched, something which was rare for an experienced marine. Before Sam could comment, the Sergeant walked passed Sam and into the civilian vessel. It was only a few seconds later when there was a loud plea for help, followed by a single gunshot. Sam's eyes grew behind his mask and he was about to attack the marine when Hawke's voice came over the intercom.

"Sierra-034, to the bridge immediately!"

With hesitation Sam left the scene, looking over his shoulder as he exited the bay to watch a handful of marines pulling the body and the cargo of the civilian pilot from the vessel.

_Hawke, you better have a good explanation._

A hiss escaped the elevator as it came to a halt on the bridge level and Samuel stepped out, watching as the crewmembers rushed around the room. Sam had fought his battle on the ground, but this is where the bulk of the war was taking place; from the bridge of a ship. Hawke stood in the center of the room, watching on as his fleet was getting decimated around him. In the time it took for Sam to board and reach the bridge, two more of escort ships had been destroyed.

"Slipspace capable in two minutes, Captain," spoke one of the Ensigns at a control panel.

Hawke turned to Sam, and then motioned for him to stand beside him. Sam did just this and took up a position next to Hawke in a parade rest stance. Hawke and Samuel stood there in silence for a few seconds, before Hawke pointed out at the last of his escort ships. Sam glanced at the vessel and noticed it was accelerating towards two Covenant vessels.

"Do you know what sacrifice is?" Hawke questioned as cold as he ever had.

"Giving of yourself for the better good," Sam's reply was just as cold.

"I have known the Commander of that ship," Hawke pointed towards the accelerating vessel, "for fifteen years. I was at his wedding, there for the birth of one of his children, and was the one who gave him the commission of Commander."

They again stood there in silence as the UNSC vessel started turning starboard, making itself a much wider target. In theory, it was acting as a shield for the _Hope_.

"This man, the Commander of the UNSC _Horizon_, Keith McKnight, is about to die so you can get away."

Sam looked down at Hawke, staring at him with unblinking eyes as Hawke did the same to the ship in front of them. He could see Hawke was holding back his emotions by the slight glint in his eyes as he looked on. Slowly Sam looked back towards the view screen and watched as the _Horizon_ was ripped to shreds by multiple plasma torpedoes. Thirty seconds later the _Hope_ jumped into slipspace and made its way towards safer space.

"Sacrifice, Spartan, sacrifice," Hawke finally blinked and looked up at Sam, "he believed so heavily in our mission, **your** mission; that he was willing to sacrifice his crew and himself so you could escape. Those Covenant ships were targeting us and with us, they would've taken you. Remember his sacrifice next time you question our mission. Remember why we fight. Remember he will not be the only one to make such a sacrifice to see you succeed."

All Sam could do was nod in response. This was the first time Hawke had ever shown any shred of humanity and dignity during the five years he had been under his command. He was certain now that the death of his close companion had hit him hard.

"The _Hope_ is now combat ineffective. As soon as we get to safe space you will be relieved of my command. You will continue to conduct operations against the Insurrectionists, but you will not have the support of a fleet; you will be rogue. Am I clear?"

Another nod.

"Dismissed," as Sam started to walk away Hawke spoke a few more words, "And Spartan. Don't forget our sacrifices while you're out there. This is for the good of mankind."


	9. Competition

**Author** **Notes: **_ This is one of the shorter chapters, but it's designed to set up the next phase of the story. Thank you for all of the favorites, follows, and reviews. As I said, I am dedicated to finishing this story.. hopefully by the end of the year. Thanks again for reading and enjoy!_**  
**

* * *

**2333 Hours, January 20, 2535 (Military Calendar) /  
Unknown Insurrectionist Spacecraft, UNSC Controlled Space**

Three thousand, six hundred and ninety three days since Samuel had joined Captain Hawke on his mission to get the Insurrectionists on the UNSC's side. Three thousand, six hundred and sixty nine days ago today he had completed the first phase of said mission. Three thousand, six hundred and sixty eight days Samuel had had not a moment of peace within him. The blood of hundreds of thousands stained his hands, haunted his dreams, and tormented his soul. His training had never prepared him for this, for what he was becoming; the monster of his dreams. The cruel, emotionless creature which always bested the kindhearted Samuel, always killed those innocent people—the little girl. Every life he had taken without reason was embedded within that little girls face; her tears were their final breaths, but the flower she offered was Sam's salvation.

It was a flower he could never reach.

Forty-three days ago, Samuel had eliminated the crew of the _Hell's Harpoon_ and then smuggled himself into the _Zeus Training Facility_; where he murdered young men and women while they slept peacefully in their beds. They never saw him coming, never had a chance to defend themselves. Just as quickly as he was there, he vanished. Leaving behind nothing but a smoldering wreckage of what used to be. Bodies floated aimlessly through void, leaving behind a distinct warning for any vessels approaching the once heavily populated facility. Now Sam found himself in the same situation of those bodies. For the last twenty days he had been floating through space in one of the Insurrectionist spacecrafts. Based off the space and gravity control system, Sam had guessed it belonged to a high ranking official at the facility.

Yet with all of the luxury the ship provided; the comfortable seats, the extensive list of music, so on and so forth, Sam still sat quietly in the bridge, staring off into space. He would've slept if it wasn't for the dreams which haunted him, but every time he closed his eyes he could see their faces. Before he was put on rogue status by Captain Hawke the dreams were bad, but not this bad. Since he had been on his own, Sam had performed countless ship infiltrations, dozens of minor facility incursions, and one catastrophic failure of a planets space elevator. He had been quite busy, which meant his soul was even more tarnished.

Slowly Sam reached up, pressing his hand against the face shield of his helmet and leaned forward. He closed his eyes slowly, hoping that maybe this time he would be different, this time he could get some rest. As he felt himself slipping into sleep the faint noise of a 'beeping' could be heard. At first he tried to ignore it, block it out, but it started getting louder and louder. Suddenly he found himself a medical facility, standing in full service dress, looking at a body clinging to life on an operation table. The source of the beeping was now evident as the EKG which was hooked up to the body. Sam just stood there, looking down at this person on the table, not sure exactly who they were or why he was even here. The body on the table was battered beyond belief, his or her face so badly damaged it was unrecognizable. Several bags of blood were being pushed into them, but it wasn't equally what was flowing out. Sam was about to turn and walk away, when the body slowly raised its hand.

"Wait," the raspy, male voice said, "there's still time."

His words didn't make any sense to Sam. _Still time for what? _Sam turned and looked down at the man, who still laid there with his hand shaking as he held it out.

"You're not a bad person, Samuel," when his name was said Sam turned fully to face the man, "but you are a good soldier, that's why you do what you do."

"I've killed innocent people. I've allowed our enemy to walk freely amongst us and kill without any opposition. I am the opposite of everything you've said," Sam's words were harsh.

"This is a war, people die. That is one of the disadvantages to being a soldier, Samuel. We don't get to see what our efforts create. We don't get to ask the tough questions, we just do our duty," he lowered his hand back onto the table and winced from the pain of moving it in the first place, "and we do it well."

The beeping started to slow and Sam looked over at the monitor. The time between heart beats was decreasing and it wouldn't be long before this man would die. Sam stepped closer to him, trying to get a better look at his face.

"Who are you?"

Once again the man slowly lifted his hand, but this time reached across his body and slipped it into a blood stained shirt pocket. He removed a small flower, the same one that Sam had seen in his dreams. Gently he placed the flower over his heart and rested his hand on it, protecting it from the outside world.

"You."

His vitals flat lined and a steady tone was heard through the monitor, indicating he no longer had a heart beat. Sam, curious of what had happened, began to reach down for the man's hand to reveal the flower. Before he could even touch the man, the tone became deafening and he was forced to bring his hands to his ears to block out the sound.

Sam sprung up from his seat and glanced around, his heart racing and his fists clenched as if he was ready to fight. There was nothing around him, but the tone was still there. Finally, he recognized what was making the noise and glanced at his Heads-Up-Display. The dates had changed and Sam had set the tone to go off whenever it was a new day. He turned off the alarm and lowered himself back to his seat, released a sigh, and punched coordinates into the computer. The ship came to life and started to lurch forward. It began to turn starboard, then accelerated towards the desired destination. Sam leaned back, against leaning his head against his open hand and again closed his eyes.

Three thousand, six hundred and ninety four days since Samuel had joined Captain Hawke on his mission to get the Insurrectionists on the UNSC's side.

* * *

**1200 Hours, July 26, 2536 (Military Calendar) /  
Reach Shipyard #13, Stationary Facility  
**_**Reach, Epsilon Eridani System**_

Reach. She was the hub of all things military within the UNSC and this was more evident by the massive shipyards which were positioned around the planet. Captain Hawke found himself at one these facilities, staring out at his ship as she was refitted for combat. It had taken nearly six months to return to Reach after the battle over Eridanus II and another two years to get the funding to repair the _Hope_. In this day and age, showing up with only one ship out of a fleet of nine was heavily frowned upon. Parangosky almost had his ass and he was one more slip up away from being a target dummy for weapons research. Hawke scuffed as the thought of Parangosky entered his mind. She knew what was going on, but she still insisted on busting his chops every chance she got. Footsteps echoed through the open observation room and Hawke peered over his shoulder at the unannounced visitor.

"Ackerson," Hawke said softly, with a slight irritation in his voice.

"Hawke," Colonel James Ackerson replied, "I heard you might be here."

"What brings you up here? Shouldn't you be playing golf or rummaging through my personal files?" Hawke gave a quick smirk with his remark.

"You of all people shouldn't be throwing out jabs. After all, I only saw one ship on your initial request for repairs. I could've sworn you…"

Hawke snapped; turning to face Ackerson head on and grabbed him by the collar of his service uniform, jerking his face towards his.

"A lot of good men and women died so I could have that one ship. Show some Goddamn respect for that!" Hawke emphasized **that** with a heavy push against Ackerson; causing him to stumble backwards a few steps.

Ackerson collected himself, never once taking his eyes away from Hawke's. He readjusted his uniform, and then returned to his position a few steps away from him.

"This isn't how I wanted this conversation to go," he started, "but now I see it's too late for pleasantries so I will just cut to the chase."

Hawke turned his attention back to the observation window and continued to watch as the _Hope_ was worked on. Ackerson took this as a good of a time as any to continue.

"Have you heard about the Spartan-IIIs?" He asked.

"Only whispers," Hawke replied, "what about them?"

"The initial recruits, Alpha Company, are nearing the end of their training. I've hand selected three of them for a special assignment," Ackerson paused for a moment, "I only bring this up because Parangosky mentioned you were running a parallel operation and the last thing I want is for us to be stepping on each others toes."

Hawke shifted his eyes over to Ackerson, "I assure you my operation will not come across yours."

Ackerson nodded, "Good. I would hate to see your assets wiped out by mine. These are some of the best soldiers I have ever seen; to include of the Spartan-IIs. The Covenant won't even know what hit them."

Hawke couldn't help but chuckle, "You're right. They won't."


End file.
